


Stand In

by wicked3659



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked3659/pseuds/wicked3659
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz deals with his pain by indulging his needs over the vorns. That suits him just fine until he's met with a challenge he cannot refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indulgences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pl2363](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/gifts).



> This was written as a birthday gift for pl2363. Belated, I hope you like it :3
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays everybody.

Jazz laughed at the mech’s jokes and took another long swig of his high grade. The mech, Springer, wasn’t that funny but he had talented hands and Jazz had some pent up energy he needed to release. “How about we call it a night?” he grinned knowingly at the mech whose optics brightened and a pleased smile spread across his face. 

“Yeah, I’m up for that,” the mech downed his high grade and Jazz gestured for him to follow as he weaved his way through the party. 

Jazz smirked back at the mech and looked his frame up and down. He was easy on the optics too, that always helped. He was going to have a bit of fun tonight. 

That was how life was now. Fight hard, play harder, have the fun while you can and go out with a bang. Jazz was a show mech, if you had to do anything then he insisted it be done with style. It was a relatively simple life, war notwithstanding but it hadn’t always been this way. 

Before there was even thought of war, Jazz had had a full life. There hadn’t been the thrill of running into enemy bases and sabotaging their plans at the risk of deactivation. Nor had there been numerous parties to celebrate another battle won or survived. There also hadn’t been a different mech warming his berth every deca-orn. No. There had only been one mech, every cycle. The mech that held Jazz’s spark. 

Life had been infinitely more complicated. There was talk of bonding and of sparklings and of moving to a better city state, working enough hours to get the credits for it. There were the trips together, planning where to live, what home to buy. Jazz’s life had been full and he had been contented, happy even, though he barely remembered what that felt like anymore. 

It was little more than a distant memory fragment of a long forgotten time. Life had become so much simpler when all of that had been ripped from him. His beloved hadn’t even supposed to have been on that transport coming back through Polihex from Kaon. It had been a last minute job change and it had been for a lot of credits. The explosion had wiped out almost a quarter of the city and all those hard-earned credits went towards a funeral for a mech whose body was never recovered. 

Yeah, life was much simpler when it was simply empty. 

****

“Have fun?”

Jazz glanced up blearily at Mirage and smirked at his long time friend. “You know me,” he laughed, before groaning and holding his helm. 

“Take that as a yes,” the noble replied dryly, sliding into the seat opposite Jazz. “One last hurrah before the shuttle leaves in a cycle?” 

“Somethin’ like that, yeah. He’s one of the ones staying here with Magnus. Plus he’s been wanting to get in my berth since he arrived on base.”

Mirage simply quirked an optic ridge at that and the corner of his mouth curved upwards into a smirk. “Going to break a spark one of these cycles,” he cautioned with good humour. 

Jazz snorted a laugh. “Not unless you suddenly grow one and get all mushy on me,” he teased back. 

Jazz had met Mirage shortly after signing up to join the Autobots. He had literally nothing left at that point. He had sold off everything he’d owned and wandered around Cybertron, avoiding the increasing fighting. He’d done the odd job to help get enough credits for transports and had stolen the rest. It had landed him in Iacon with nothing but the plating on his back. He’d arrived in time for a speech by the Prime, rallying mechs and femmes to the Autobot cause. Something had resonated in Jazz but he wasn’t sure if he could really call it purpose. He’d signed up that cycle regardless and that was where he had met the former noble, who had fallen from the grace of the Towers. 

They had trained together, both finding a penchant for special ops and each other’s plating. Becoming regular berth partners, they quickly became friends. Though their intimacy never ventured further than the physical. They were simply too mismatched in that regard and neither mech was looking for anything serious. Both were simply looking for an escape. ‘Facing gave them both the release they needed, while special ops provided the thrill they searched for to keep going. 

Jazz had surprisingly found himself on the command path after his commander had been killed during a mission and he’d taken charge, getting the rest of his team home safely. He had been commended by none other than the SIC himself and offered the promotion to Head of Special Operations. He had accepted without second thought and had made Mirage his second, which meant he got to deal with all the administrative stuff Jazz hated. They were a good team. It worked, it was all Jazz needed. 

“Primus is more likely to reawaken and grant us eternal peace,” Mirage replied dryly. He patted Jazz’s arm. “Now I hate to be the bearer of bad news but as command staff, you have been summoned to the command deck of the Ark and Prowl said I wasn’t invited. Only command staff.” 

“Aw surely he didn’t actually say you weren’t invited. And if you’re just there, he can be persuaded,” Jazz grinned cheekily.

Mirage folded his arms and gave Jazz a pointed look. “Prowl stated and I quote, “if that mech sends you -his clearly more capable second in command- Mirage, I will personally throw him in the newly created brig until the stars burn out or we have peace on Cybertron, whichever comes first.”

Jazz stared at Mirage and pursed his lips. “He said clearly more capable?

“I was using artistic flourish,” Mirage smiled sweetly. 

“How about you keep that artistic flourish for the berth, mech,” Jazz smirked, getting up and stretching his joints. “Well if the enforcer in charge, himself beckons, I better show my face, he probably just wants to stare anyway.” 

Mirage shook his helm. “In your recharge cycle, Jazz. I shall see you on the Ark.” 

Jazz waved him off as he walked from the barracks. He really hadn’t wanted to go to the command gathering. Leaving was hard enough, saying goodbye to mechs they probably wouldn’t see again was… weird. Jazz felt oddly detached from it all. Well he could always kill time and distract himself by fritzing Red Alert through flirting alone or attempt to fluster the SIC himself, Prowl, if that were even possible. Jazz smiled to himself at that. He did so love the challenge.

****

“You are late.”

Jazz threw his most dazzling smile at the SIC who didn’t even spare him a glance. “You know me, like to keep you waiting,” he sidled up to the black and white. “Why, Prowler you miss me?” 

That earned him a light slap on the back with a doorwing, while Prowl gave him a wordless side glance. “Are you overcharged?” he asked sarcastically. 

Jazz snickered. “I wish I was, mech.” 

Prowl huffed and signed off his report. “Here are your duties upon take off and leaving Cybertron,” he handed Jazz the datapad. “I trust this doesn’t interfere with any social engagements you may have?” he added with the barest hint of a smirk. 

Jazz reset his optics, only to find the stoic expression had returned. “Careful there, Prowler. For a klik I thought you were smiling. I think I need to get my optics checked.” 

“Hm. Prime has called for us to meet him on the podium in a breem,” Prowl responded without so much as an optic flicker at Jazz’s comment. 

This was how they’d worked for vorns. To an outside observer it would look like they disliked each other but Jazz knew it wasn’t like that. While Prowl wasn’t a mech to get close to anyone, or show his emotions, from what he could tell, he didn’t get the impression that the Praxian disliked him. He gave as good as he got with regards to teasing too so Jazz wasn’t too worried. Their banter had simply become more seamless as time went on and now any business they conducted was riddled with barely veiled barbs and sarcastic insults at one another. Although when slag got real serious they bounced off each other smoothly. Intelligence and ops working side by side as it should be. Something his previous superior had not done due to an intense dislike of Prowl. Jazz could understand the dislike but he did not share it. If he was honest, he didn’t mind the stoic Praxian that much, he had a quick wit that Jazz had seen flashes of and he had a much shorter stick up his aft than Ultra Magnus did. 

Looking down at the datapad his optics brightened in surprise. “Wait! I’m navigating?” he called out to a retreating Prowl. 

The Praxian half turned and regarded him curiously. “You have some of the highest scores in navigation on board and I would prefer that the command deck is predominantly command staff for take off.”

Jazz heard the unspoken reason of not being able to trust anyone that he did not work directly with, even though Prowl had handpicked the majority of the crew leaving on the Ark. It was an added security measure he had no doubt, Red Alert had had a hand in. Prowl was never that outwardly paranoid, even when the Decepticons started closing in and using spies of their own. Still it was better safe than sorry. 

“Did you not want to navigate or was the record fabricated like so many of your reports?” Prowl continued. 

Jazz smirked and pointed the datapad at him. “One of these cycles, mech, you’re going to eat your words.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge at him and turned away, his doorwings flicking out behind him as he swept from the command deck. “Your ambition exceeds you, Jazz, at ease now, don’t strain yourself trying will you?” he replied dryly, though Jazz could’ve sworn he heard a smirk in that bland tone. 


	2. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz finds new toys.

The take off went without a hitch and everything was going to plan until Megatron decided to show up and ruin the cycle. Jazz had tried his best to keep the Ark a step ahead of the Decepticon cruiser but the Nemesis was built for battle and combat and out manoeuvred them at every turn. The ship was rocked by numerous hits and the hull screamed at them as sirens filled the command deck. Prowl barked out orders along with Prime and Jazz marvelled - as he always did - at how the Praxian managed to maintain his calm.

None of them remained calm however, when a well placed hit sent the Ark careening away from Cybertron. The command deck plunged into darkness and emergency lights flickered on as Teletraan shifted to back ups. Jazz had only managed to stay in his seat by the grace of Primus, while everyone else was thrown to the decking. “He’s closing in fast!” he shouted out over the din of the alarms.

“Activate hyper-drive!” Prowl ordered as he picked himself up off the floor.

Jazz frowned. “Activating it now with our trajectory shot means we could end up anywhere,” he yelled back.

“I am aware of that, Jazz.”

The even tenor was closer than Jazz had expected and he half turned to see Prowl gripping onto his chair. He’d been thrown from the central deck and looked injured but determined. There was no time to show his concern.

“If we don’t activate it now, there won’t be anything left of us to end up anywhere,” Prowl pointed out softly.

“Space is pretty fraggin’ big, Sir,” Jazz replied somberly. He only ever added title or status when he was being deadly serious.

Prime’s deep voice filled the command deck. “Prowl is right, we have to take the risk. We cannot allow the Matrix to fall into Megatron’s hands. Do it, Jazz.”

Jazz nodded and punched in the activation. He felt Prowl grip his seat tighter as the ship accelerated hard and space around them became nothing but a blur. Alerts screamed at them and smoke filled the command deck from sputtering consoles. Jazz swore and tried to counter the errors. “I’m losing control!”

“Hyper-drive is losing containment, I’m shutting it down!” Wheeljack hollered over the din.

The ship seemed to come to a dead stop, sending anyone who was still on their feet back to the deck plating. It spun out of control and was pulled towards a blue and white planet that loomed on their viewer.

“Jazz, can you get us out of the gravitational pull of that planet?” Prime demanded.

Jazz shook his helm and stared at the screen. “My console’s out, we’re going down, Prime.” he spared a glance at the black and white crouched beside him, trying to steady himself, only to be met with fearful optics. ‘You do feel after all then?’ Jazz mused silently to himself. “Everyone hold on tight!” he yelled and without thinking grabbed Prowl’s hand gripping the edge of his console and squeezed, surprised to feel him squeeze back before they entered the planet’s atmosphere and everything went black.

****

When Jazz came to he was groggy and sore. He had at some point been thrown from his chair and had landed on the opposite side of his console. Onlining his optics he frowned, remembering the attack and the planet and sat up quickly. His hand was empty and he looked around to find that Prowl was slumped underneath the viewer after having been thrown into the screen upon their crash landing. Crawling over gingerly, Jazz tried to wake him and stopped as he noticed his frame.

“Nmmpff… Jazz… what happened?” Prowl asked with a grunt of pain.

“You got new treads,” Jazz commented with mild confusion. “And so did I apparently,” he added looking over his own frame.

“Teletraan must be formatting our appearance to fit with the local planet’s life forms,” Prowl replied as he regained his faculties.

“Yeah, we should help the others,” Jazz answered, helping Prowl to his feet. “How long were we out?” he queried absently as he looked around the ruined command deck.

“Approximately four million of this planet’s years,” Wheeljack answered him as he appeared on the upper deck. “Roughly around fifty thousand vorns, if Teletraan’s chronometer is right.”

That changed things. “Frag me,” Jazz whispered. “That means…”

“Our allies back on Cybertron very likely think us deactivated,” Prowl finished somberly. “There will be no rescue.”

****

Earth was an interesting if dirty place. Jazz had quickly warmed to the humans’ music and dances as well as their vehicles. He was particular pleased with his alt mode, it was nippy in all terrains which meant he could race to his spark’s content. It was one of the few things outside of sabotaging and facing he thoroughly enjoyed.

Beyond that, with Earth’s short days and the sporadic attacks from the ‘cons, there wasn’t much to do beyond patrols and reinforcing human relations. Jazz found he had far too much free time on his hands. Even spying missions were few and far between thanks to the ‘cons being beneath the ocean. He found himself knocking on Mirage’s door more often.

“I’m beginning to think you like my company,” Mirage declared with a faint smirk as his door opened, revealing Jazz leaning against the door frame. “Would you like the usual?”

Jazz snickered and sauntered inside. “Never and always,” he teased. He flopped on Mirage’s berth and vented a long sigh. “Aren’t you bored, ‘Raj?”

“Bored? With you? This? Or the current situation? I’m afraid you will have to be more specific.”

“This, Earth. I honestly don’t know how we still have command meetings or duty schedules but Prowl always seems to find us something to do and he’s always busy, I don’t get it.”

Mirage sat down beside Jazz and canted his helm thoughtfully. “I suppose there is less call for special ops at the moment but I have found my duties and my hobbies more than occupy my time.”

Jazz propped himself up and grinned at Mirage. “So, I’m a hobby then am I?”

Letting out a low laugh, Mirage shook his helm. “I do have an actual life, Jazz,” he swatted his leg gently. “You should try getting one you know.”

“Nah. Tried it. Besides,” he stretched out languidly, making sure to show off his lithe frame to the noble. “I have too much fun being a hobby.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Doesn’t stop you though,” Jazz’s visor glinted up at Mirage, rocking his hips suggestively, watching the spy’s optics drift down to his panel.

“I am a mech,” Mirage rumbled as he turned and leaned over Jazz’s slightly smaller frame, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “It would be impolite to do anything but ‘face something so pretty and alluring as you,” he murmured wantonly against Jazz’s lips.

“Less talking about it, more actually doin’ it,” Jazz smirked, his glossa snaking out to lick playfully at Mirage’s upper lip.

“So demanding,” Mirage purred, running his hand down the length of Jazz’s body, admiring his new curves. He tapped the still closed but heated panel and smirked when Jazz released it and gave an enticing wiggle of his hips.   
Glancing down at his proud spike, Jazz’s grin widened. “Look at that, already standing to attention.”

Snorting a laugh at Jazz’s goofy line, Mirage took hold of the hard spike and squeezed it firmly. His fingers trailed lower to tease at the edges of Jazz’s valve before dipping inside the slick heat. He pumped his fingers in and out a little roughly, knowing exactly how Jazz liked it, before he pulled his fingers free. Fingering was all well and good, but Jazz never let him spike him and Mirage had always respected that boundary. Returning to the neglected spike he ghosted his fingertips over the sensitive nodes, optics shining as he watched Jazz gasp and writhe with enjoyment.

Jazz’s mouth parted as Mirage climbed atop of him and straddled his waist. Both of the noble’s hands caressed his frame slowly, before he took hold of Jazz’s hand and pushed it between his thighs. Jazz wasted no time in curling his fingers into Mirage’s exposed valve, gently teasing the platelets of the mesh lining as Mirage groaned deeply in response. When he felt his fingers becoming slick, Jazz pulled free and gripped Mirage’s hips. There were no more words. This was all about the physical. Enjoying the moment. Two mechs who trusted each other and didn’t want anything complicated. Lifting the spy up slightly, he tugged him down over his spike and relished the moment he sank into that inviting valve.

Mirage’s helm dropped back and his mouth parted into an ‘o’ as he mewled out his initial pleasure. Interfacing with Jazz was always fun and spontaneous and never boring. Though as enjoyable as it was, he wasn’t sure how long he could continue with their one night stand arrangements. Since arriving on Earth, things had changed for all of them and he had found himself preoccupied with another. It wasn’t anything yet but Mirage had hope, not that he could tell Jazz any of this. Whenever Mirage had tried to have a meaningful emotional conversation with Jazz the mech had shut down, closed off. It had hurt but Mirage had accepted that there was a part of Jazz that would never open up to him. It made his spark heavy for his friend. Jazz was a good mech who deserved happiness in his life but always seemed to avoid anything remotely serious. He was superficial, emotionally stunted and not even Mirage had managed to breach those walls. Still he would enjoy this moment for what it was and hoped silently that Jazz wouldn’t react too badly when things changed.

Jazz rolled his hips, enjoying the lovely view of the noble riding his spike. It was a vision that didn’t get old. They always started off slow like this before Jazz’s impatience won out and he began to pivot his hips, thrusting his spike deep into Mirage’s valve, grunting with effort and pleasure. His spike throbbed as it was squeezed and he picked up his pace, optics offlining as he felt the crest of overload approaching.

Mirage curled his fingers into Jazz’s chest as he curled over, sinking down over every thrust, causing Jazz’s spike to tap the top most sensor node. He could tell when Jazz was chasing his overload and was determined not to get left behind, not that Jazz had ever left him disappointed. In the berth the mech was a very generous lover, something which Mirage was appreciative of. He stiffened and arched sharply, letting out a sharp cry as his own overload took him by surprise. His body continued to rock as Jazz thrust hard and fast into him, before he too cried out with pleasurable release and liquid heat filled his valve, trickling down his thighs.

Jazz hummed with a smile as he came down from his high and wrapped his arms about the noble as Mirage slumped over him, pressing flush to his hot frame. Their fans whirred loudly in Mirage’s room and they lay that way contentedly for a while. All too soon, Mirage shifted and mumbled about heading to his washrack. Jazz let him go and frowned a little at the pang of disappointment that suddenly filled his spark. The moment was over. Whipping out a rag from his subspace he quickly cleaned himself up and ducked into the washrack. “Hey, I’m going to head back, okay?”

Mirage gave him a wave as he scrubbed down his frame and smiled. “Alright. Don’t forget Smokescreen wants to teach us that new game in the rec’ room after duty shift.”

Jazz grinned. “Oh yeah, poker right?”

Mirage nodded. “Sure you won’t use the shower?”

Shaking his helm, Jazz headed for the door. “Nah, got my own. Thanks for tonight. See you in the rec’ room later.”

Mirage did not need to respond and simply sighed as he resumed his cleaning. He was exceedingly glad that his quarters were one of the few to have survived the crash completely. Many mechs were now forced to use the communal wash racks, even some of the officers. He had generously offered the use of his own, during the times he was on duty shift. His thoughts drifted to Jazz as he finished off and patted himself down and a frown formed on his faceplates. No matter how casual this was for Jazz, ending the physical part of their relationship was still going to be a blow for the mech and that had Mirage worried for his friend.

****

The alarm base rang throughout the Ark and Jazz raced to the command deck. He secretly liked it when there was an attack because it meant he got to do something. If there was anything Jazz hated, it was boredom and Earth for the most part was boring him to deactivation. Distractions were necessary if he were to maintain some shred of his remaining sanity. Mirage helped a lot in that regard but Jazz had noticed that his friend was not as available as he had once been before they had crashed. He suspected, Mirage had grown attached to someone and just didn’t want to make it official yet. He didn’t ask. It wasn’t any of his business, as long as the mech was happy. He didn’t like the cold dread that curled about his spark whenever he thought about not having Mirage around to help distract him, though. It was a heavy, sinking feeling and Jazz didn’t like it, not one bit. He had decided to seek out new distractions, just in case his suspicions were right and he had always welcome a good fight.

The twins zoomed past, whooping excitedly. “Ready to kick some aft, Jazz?” Sideswipe called back as he turned.

Jazz nodded and returned the grin. “You bet your aft, I am. Thought I was going to explode if I didn’t get to blow off some steam soon.”

Sideswipe snickered and nudged his brother who glanced back with a vague scowl. “There’s always a method for dealing with that you know?”

“Oh really, got any good suggestions?”

“Plenty, on the battlefield and even more in the berth,” Sideswipe’s optics glinted mischievously.

“Sideswipe…” Sunstreaker warned quietly.

The red mech laughed and shrugged as they entered the command deck. “What? He asked.”

Jazz came to a stop beside them as Prime began to relay orders. “Well you’ve piqued my interest. Fancy putting your credits where your mouth is?” he gave the taller red mech a sidelong glance and a subtle smirk.

The twins shared a glance and Sunstreaker gave a short nod of his helm. Sideswipe leaned closer to murmur into Jazz’s audio. “Straight after the battle, my quarters. Can’t guarantee you’ll be walking after,” he smirked.

“You’re on,” Jazz replied. And just like that, he had a new distraction.


	3. Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz enjoys his playtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looots of sticky shenanigans this chapter ^^;;

The battle had been a blur for Jazz, his thoughts had been wholly preoccupied with his plans for after. He’d known the twins a long time but for some reason had always steered clear of trying to seduce either of them. There was just something about them that had kept him away and right now, on the way to Sideswipe’s room, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what that something was.

“Was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” Sideswipe grinned as he answered the door when Jazz pinged it. He stepped aside and waved Jazz in.

Jazz strolled in casually with a smile of his own. “Nah, just got caught up with the aftermath, you know, command stuff.”

“Yeah, I bet Prowl demands reports straight away, huh?” Sideswipe huffed, handing Jazz some high grade.

“Sometimes, today was just a quick casualty run down though,” Jazz replied before taking a sip of his drink, “he wanted to visit the medbay to see Blue though so we cut early,” he explained, making a mental note to check with Prowl later about Blue’s condition and to go pay a visit to the chatty Praxian himself.

“Yeah I heard Blue’ got injured, hope he’s alright,” the red mech replied. He sauntered over to the berth - it being the only seat in his room and sat down, patting beside him with an unspoken invite.

Jazz was only too happy to oblige and quickly downed his high grade.

Sideswipe snickered at that. “You’re keen.”

“Battles get me revved up,” Jazz answered with a smirk.

“Well in that case,” Sideswipe drank all his energon and leaned over Jazz to steal an eager kiss.

Placing a hand on the larger mech’s chest, Jazz stopped him before their lips could touch. “Ah ah, ground rules first.”

“Oh we have rules? Kinky,” Sideswipe grinned.

“Not those kinds, mech,” Jazz laughed. “Just no spiking me, ‘kay?”

Sideswipe paused and his optics flickered slightly as he stilled for a couple of kliks. “It’s workable,” he replied finally a smile spreading across his face. “Now where were we?”

Jazz allowed the kiss this time and thoroughly enjoyed it, Sideswipe knew how to kiss. He did wonder about the mech’s hesitation at his rule though, it had seemed odd, like he was unsure but as Sideswipe’s talented hands began to roam over his plating, he thought nothing more of it. Heat followed his fingers and he shivered at the pleasurable caresses and gropes. Jazz explored the frontliner’s body in return, hands splaying over the large flat chest and down to his aft. When he squeezed, Jazz’s world suddenly spun and he found himself sprawled over the top of the red mech with Sideswipe grinning beneath him.

“I’m all yours.”

Jazz’s engine revved at the implication and he wasted no time in pawing at Sideswipe’s panel as their caresses and gropes became more frenzied and desperate. The heated panel opened and Jazz admired the pretty ample spike that sprang forward. Good to know he was having the desired effect. He ran the backs of his fingers along the underside of the spike, making it jump at his touches and he smirked at Sideswipe who whined with want, optics staring at him intently. Curling a finger into Sideswipe’s valve felt even better when the mech’s hips rose up to push him deeper and he mewled a little. Jazz had had no idea Sideswipe would be quite so responsive but it was definitely an added bonus to his own arousal. He stroked his own now exposed spike in full view of Sideswipe who watched him hungrily, as he also slid his finger and then two fingers in and out of Sideswipe’s slick valve. When he was good and ready, he freed his hand and pushed Sideswipe’s legs apart before he leaned over and guided his spike to the waiting valve.

Sideswipe gasped as Jazz slid into him. It felt good, though different from when his brother spiked him. Usually he only allowed Sunstreaker to do so but they’d agreed to make an exception upon learning of Jazz’s rule. They didn’t want to ruin the opportunity of having the TIC in their berth. It had been quite the secret fantasy of theirs for some time but Jazz had always avoided getting into any situations with them where they could bring it up, that was until now.

Groaning with pleasure, Jazz paused for a moment as he relished the feeling. This was always the most perfect moment, the first penetration, the feel of a valve wrapped around his spike, it made him feel somewhat alive and he craved the feeling. Sideswipe writhed wantonly beneath him and Jazz decided to play it a little rough and pulled back only to slam his spike deep into his lovely valve. At Sideswipe’s cry and gasped ‘more’ Jazz picked up a rough pace, thrusting over and over into the red mech with abandon, enjoying the whimpers he pulled from the usually fierce and formidable soldier.

Panting, Sideswipe gripped Jazz tightly as the mech fragged him good and hard, just the way he liked it. His valve ached and his face screwed up with pleasure as he was pushed towards that edge.

Grunting with effort, Jazz repositioned himself slightly and curled his hands under Sideswipe’s shoulders and used the extra leverage to drive himself deeper and harder, chasing down that overload he could feel tingling on the edges of his sensor net. The charge was building rapidly and he pounded the mech beneath him into the berth, ignoring the creak of metal as he stiffened and hollered in release.

Optics brightening at the sudden rush of hot fluid into his valve, Sideswipe gaped and held on as Jazz continued thrusting through his own overload, determined to get Sideswipe’s release too. It didn’t take much more of the bruising pace to send him over that edge and he roared out his pleasure, hands curling into the berth padding as shudders wracked his systems.

Slumping over Sideswipe, Jazz hummed out his pleasure as the ebbs of his overload rippled through him. “S’good.”

“Yes, it was.”

Jazz froze at the new voice and slowly turned his helm to stare at the golden mech gazing at them from across the room.

Sideswipe grinned. “Hey, Sunny, enjoy the show?”   
“Show?” Jazz looked between them.

“Sorry, he wanted to watch for a bit before he joined in, don’t worry we didn’t record it or anything, just something he likes, you don’t mind right?”

Jazz wasn’t sure whether or not he minded, but he knew he looked confused.

“Didn’t know you’d be getting both of us, did you?” Sunstreaker queried with a faint smirk.

“Now that you mention it,” Jazz laughed awkwardly.

Sideswipe grimaced a little. “Hope that’s okay, we’re sort of a package deal and we’re pretty picky, if that makes you feel better?”

“Just surprised is all,” Jazz pushed himself up, freeing himself from Sideswipe, there was no point in covering up now that Sunstreaker had seen everything. “And a little concerned I didn’t know you were there, just how did you hide from me?” he asked Sunstreaker.

“I was not here the whole time,” Sunstreaker explained with vague amusement and tapped his chest and pointed at Sideswipe.

“Oh right… twins!” Jazz responded, realising that that was what had always made him steer clear of them. He had never been quite certain just how much the twins shared and hadn’t wanted to end up in some weird messy situation. “Glad we’re all on board then,” he laughed with relief.

Sunstreaker walked over to the berth and looked down at him with darkened lustfilled optics. “Completely. Now I hope you have stamina, Jazz.”

Sideswipe sat up and grinned widely at him and reached under the berth to pull out some more contraband high grade. “You’re going to need this.”

Sunstreaker pushed Jazz back to sit against the wall as he straddled him with a predatory growl. “My turn.”

Jazz’s engine revved loudly and he reached for the bottle of high grade, taking a long swig of its contents. “Ahh…” he gasped and his mouth fell open when Sunstreaker’s hands began to meticulously caress his spike, fingertips teasing every sensor node. “That’s nice…”

“Glad you approve,” Sunstreaker positively purred, a smirk tugging at his lips. He was both pleased and impressed by how fast Jazz was becoming worked up and aroused again. Though it wasn’t unexpected. Neither twin were shy about their berth prowess and knew just how much they were desired throughout the Ark. They rarely managed to take an officer back to their berth, however, so this was a rare treat for them which fit perfectly with their kink for authority figures.   
Jazz watched with a bright visor as Sideswipe sidled up behind his brother and wrapped his arms about him, caressing his chest, while mouthing at a helm fin playfully.

Sunstreaker let out a low moan and leaned back into his twin slightly, gasping when his brother’s fingers slid between his legs and toyed with his valve.

Sideswipe kissed Sunstreaker’s shoulder and pinned Jazz with a wanton gaze. “Getting him nice and slick for you.”

Biting his lower lip, Jazz groaned at the sight. The twins were attractive at the worst of times but right now it was all he could do not to grab his spike and pump it until he overloaded at the sight of them together, both practically writhing in his lap. “Frag… s’hot…”

“Which end would you like?” Sideswipe asked with a lowly growl, mouthing over his brother’s throat as both twins optics fixed on him. Arousal and want evident on both their faces.

“Which… what?” Jazz didn’t really know how to respond to that. Was Sideswipe asking him what he thought he was asking him?

“Sunny is really good with his mouth,” chuckled Sideswipe. “He also likes to be fragged while he’s sucking spike so which do you want?”

Jazz’s intakes stuttered at that and he took another mouthful of high grade, simply to delay his response and calm himself down. Primus he could overload at that thought alone. “Either…” he managed to choke out. He meant it too but he couldn’t get the image of Sunstreaker’s mouth wrapped around his spike out of his processor. “Mouth?”

Sideswipe snickered and kissed his brother’s cheek, moving from the berth as Sunstreaker smirked and shuffled back away from Jazz, until he too was off the berth and kneeling on the floor. He reached forward and grabbed Jazz’s ankles, tugging him firmly towards him, his smile widening when Jazz squeaked in surprise.

Staring at Sunstreaker, Jazz, for once, was at a loss for words, this was not what he was expecting but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the turn of events. His legs dangled off the berth, either side of Sunstreaker and the golden mech was proceeding to kiss his way up the inside of one thigh and down the other, before leaning forward and licking his spike slowly. “Primus…” Jazz breathed, his spike twitching at the caress. It was already rock hard and he couldn’t help the subtle rock of his hips.

Sideswipe watched with darkened optics, his own engine revving. Carefully he knelt behind his twin and ran his hands over his aft and up his back, waiting for the perfect moment when Sunstreaker was mouthing the head of Jazz’s spike before pushing him forward, forcing Sunstreaker to take the whole spike in his mouth. “He’s so pretty like this,” he murmured wantonly, grinding against his aft as he watched.

Choking on a moan as his spike was suddenly engulfed by the warmth of Sunstreaker’s mouth, Jazz gripped the berth padding and panted. It felt so good and having Sideswipe watch was only heightening his enjoyment. Glancing up at Sideswipe, he watched eagerly as Sideswipe palmed his own spike. He parted Sunstreaker’s legs slightly and lined himself up, rocking his hips sharply, impaling himself on his twin with a grunt. Sunstreaker moaned around the spike and Jazz’s intakes hitched as the vibrations of sound rippled through his body.

“He likes it if you hold his helm and frag his mouth,” Sideswipe commented as he began to thrust into his brother.

Jazz was quite certain he had never done anything quite as kinky as this and would never have dreamed of even asking Sunstreaker to suck his spike, never mind holding his helm and fragging his mouth. Despite that his hand seemed to move of its own accord and he rested it firmly on the back of Sunstreaker’s helm, starting to rock his own hips up, alternating somewhat with Sideswipe’s thrusts so Sunstreaker rocked between them. He felt his spike tapping the back of Sunstreaker’s intake and mewled with growing pleasure. The sights and sounds of the scene in front of him as well as that talented mouth and glossa working his spike was sending his pleasure to dizzying heights.

“Now that’s fraggin’ hot…” Sideswipe growled as he picked up his pace a little, gripping Sunstreaker’s hips as he drove into him. His control didn’t take long to fray and he was pleased to see Jazz getting carried away too, their thrusts becoming more forceful and erratic. He could feel Sunstreaker’s arousal over their twin bond and reached around his twin’s waist to grab his neglected spike and squeezed it tightly before stroking it with an alternating rhythm to his thrusts.

Visor flickering with pleasure, Jazz whimpered when he saw what Sideswipe was doing and could feel Sunstreaker whining around his spike. As their pleasure grew exponentially both of them lost whatever control they’d had and thrust over and over into Sunstreaker, fraggin him senseless, quite literally. Jazz’s overload hit first and he cried out and fell back against the berth, his hands gripping Sunstreaker’s helm, holding it still with his spike buried to the hilt into his mouth as it jerked and emptied down his intake.

At the sight of Jazz overloading into his brother and sharing in the sensation over their connection, Sideswipe came second and roared out his release, continuing his thrusts as his fluid made Sunstreaker’s valve even slicker. He could feel his brother was close and pounded into him until he felt the sharp squeeze of his spike.

Sunstreaker stiffened and moaned about Jazz’s spike as he finished milking it. His own spike exploded, making a mess over the floor as Sideswipe kept pumping it hard. Pulling free of Jazz, he gave the spent spike a teasing lick and wiped his mouth. His entire frame was trembling with ebbing pleasure and exertion. When he felt Sideswipe free himself, he climbed onto the berth and flopped beside Jazz, face first and threw the black and white a sated smile. “Next time we roast, Sides’,” he declared with a glance at his brother. “He’s a whimperer,” he added with a teasing glint in his optic.

Jazz laughed, feeling quite satisfied and glad to hear that there would be a next time. He glanced over at Sideswipe as the red mech crawled onto the berth on his other side and sort of wrapped himself around him, cocooning Jazz between him and Sunstreaker.

“Hope you don’t mind… he likes to snuggle after,” Sunstreaker pointed out dryly. “You’re welcome to crash here for the night.”

Humming as he felt his recharge protocols kicking in, Jazz decided to do just that. He was not averse to a bit of post overload snuggling, though he knew he’d be gone before the twins woke up. It was just his style.


	4. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's plan works beautifully. In his opinion.

Prowl glanced up as Jazz sauntered into tactical with his trademark smirk. “Good night I take it?” he asked blandly.

Jazz chuckled and pointed a finger at him. “How do you always know?”

Raising an optic ridge, Prowl regarded him coolly. “Your field, it betrays you,” he flicked his doorwings for emphasis before turning back to the tactical monitors.

Tightening his field, Jazz shook his helm. He could never tell if Prowl was perturbed by his indiscretions, he never gave any indications however and it never affected their working relationship. Stepping up to Prowl’s side, he scanned the outlay of the previous battle with a hum. “We did some damage,” he commented.

“We also took damage,” Prowl pointed out quietly, highlighting a specific portion of the screen and enlarging it. “There are still a number of casualties in the medbay and we lost a substantial amount of fuel reserves. I will have to recommend a fuel run to Prime before our stock gets too low.”

“Has Wheeljack had any progress with manufacturing our own energon?”

“He and Perceptor are working on it, it requires certain Cybertronian minerals not found here on Earth, they are trying to see if substitutes can be found here however, before a trip to Cybertron is suggested.”

Jazz gave Prowl a sidelong glance and frowned slightly as he noticed the tension in the mech’s doorwings. The mech was always some degree of tense but this time they were quivering ever so subtly. “You okay? Have you rested since the last battle?”

“Not all of us have time for rest, Jazz,” Prowl replied tersely, avoiding his gaze. “My battle computer predicts a 76% chance that the Decepticons will attack again soon.”

“No excuse to run yourself into the ground, mech,” Jazz countered with concern. He reached up and lightly touched Prowl’s arm. “You have Smokescreen and Trailbreaker who can help you with this tactical stuff, it’s not going anywhere, how about just grabbing a cube with me hm?”

Prowl pulled his arm free and scowled at Jazz. “We all have our distractions, Jazz. Some of us choose to spend our time more productively, I don’t question your habits, I will thank you not to question mine,” he turned away and gathered his datapads. “We’re done here, I won’t expect you at the next briefing, you’ll be too busy distracting yourself no doubt.”

“Whoa! What the frag?” Jazz reared back at the snide remarks and acerbic comment Prowl threw at him as he swept out of tactical. That was new. He glanced around tactical, causing both Smokescreen and Trailbreaker to look away quickly. “Anyone want to tell me what crawled up his tailpipe and died?”

The other two mechs shared a glance and wisely chose not to answer.

****

Mirage glanced up as Jazz slid into the seat opposite. “Wow who died?”

“Really Raj’? We just had a battle and you’re making jokes like that?” Jazz retorted hotly.

Shrugging his shoulders, Mirage averted his optics with a mutter. “Never bothered you before.”

Sighing, Jazz slumped in his seat. “Sorry, mech, it’s been a weird day.”

“Weird how?”

“Just weird. I turned up for my tactical meeting with Prowl and the mech practically tore me a new one. It was just weird.”

“You two do bicker though,” Mirage pointed out hesitantly.

“Yeah but this wasn’t like that. Usually there’s some back and forth, banter you know, nothing spark felt but this time the mech was cold, kinda harsh to be honest and it threw me for a loop. I’ve been unable to shake the funk since,” Jazz folded his arms with a frown.

“Have you tried speaking with him. Prowl doesn’t strike me as an unreasonable mech.”

“Yeah he didn’t me either until today but every time I’ve tried to corner him he’s busy or in a meeting or he just disappears from his office. I don’t know it feels like I’ve done something. He got a little personal too.”

Mirage raised an optic ridge at that. “Personal?”

Scowling Jazz stared at the table. “Yeah mentioned how he wouldn’t expect me at the next briefing because I’d be too busy indulging my distractions.”

Mirage’s optics brightened at that and he sat back in his seat. “You told him about your… hobby?”

“Nah of course not, I can be discreet,” Jazz insisted. “But I’d only recently left the twins’ quarters and he said he could tell by my field that I’d recently interfaced or something, then he went weird.”

“He could be under a lot of stress since the battle,” Mirage suggested helpfully.

Jazz opened his mouth to agree when he was rudely interrupted by Smokescreen huffing and moving from his booth behind theirs to sit beside Jazz. “Ever thought he might be jealous?”

Pausing and gazing at Smokescreen, Jazz shook his helm. “He’s always known what I get up to, why would he suddenly be jealous. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Jealousy rarely makes sense,” Mirage answered dryly.

Smokescreen flicked his doorwings. “Let’s face it, since landing on Earth being able to find a good ‘face isn’t easy, especially if you’re a reserved mech like Prowl. Who also has the added pressure of being in charge of well, fraggin’ everyone except Prime.”

“Even then,” Mirage interrupted with a smirk.

“Yeah even then,” Smokescreen snorted in amusement.

“What’s your point?” Jazz interjected impatiently.

“I’m saying the mech is hard up. Look even he’s got to have needs and working with someone like you Jazz who for all intents and purposes can and does get a frag whenever he wants probably every night--”

“--hey it’s not every--”

“--there abouts, yes--”

  
“‘Raj!”

Mirage shrugged and smirked at his best friend. “I speak only the truth.”

Jazz sagged in his seat with mild defeat. He wasn’t ashamed in the least. A healthy interfacing life wasn’t something that was frowned upon in Cybertronian culture. Prowl was not, in actual fact, the norm. “Yeah fine, if I’m not feeling picky.”

“So imagine how that’s going to make a reserved, private mech like Prowl feel,” Smokescreen pointed out. “Knowing that you’re working with a mech who basically flaunts the fact he can berth anyone and does regularly.”

“I’m being painted in such a wonderful light, thanks,” Jazz groaned sarcastically. “So let’s say you’re right and he is jealous, how the frag is that my problem? Isn’t my fault he’s not getting any, I’m not stopping him.”

Smokescreen chuckled. “Maybe you should offer.”

Both Mirage and Jazz stared at him. Mirage scoffed and shook his helm as he took a sip of energon. “I doubt Prowl would be interested.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah but I think Jazz could work on him, wear him down. If anyone can, the Jazz man can,” Smokescreen teased.

“Look I’m not just some tool here to do your bidding for entertainment,” Jazz protested.

“But you do enjoy a challenge,” Mirage smiled demurely at him.

“And you did want Prowl to stop being an aft with you, right? I think this is guaranteed to get the mech to loosen up,” Smokescreen pointed out. “Look at it this way, you’d be doing the Ark a favour, that mech is so tightly wound he’s probably going to snap some day and it would be nice to have him distracted sometimes so other less rule abiding activities could take place.”

Jazz levelled a pointed look at Smokescreen. “You are the worst.”

“Yeah but I accept myself,” the Praxian smirked. “Tell you what, how about I run a betting pool and you get a fair cut if you actually manage to get Prowl in a berth with you.”

“Wait, hang on,” Jazz held up his hand. “You don’t think I can?”

“I don’t think anyone can to be honest. I’m not even sure if anyone ever has… Prowl’s just so… closed off you know.”

“So what do I get if I do?”

“Forty percent of my takings and my eternal respect,” Smokescreen grinned.

“Ours too,” Sideswipe piped up, his helm appearing over the top of the booth wall behind Mirage, followed soon after by Sunstreaker’s.

“Wouldn’t complain if Prowl was kept busy enough to stop riding our afts about… stuff,” Sunstreaker added with a scowl.

Jazz laughed and shook his helm. “I want fifty percent or no deal.”

“But my undying respect and admiration?” Smokescreen whined.

“Not worth squat in a pinch, mech,” Jazz grinned. “Straight down the middle or I’m not playing ball.”

Doorwings sagging, Smokescreen relented. “Fine, you’re on.”

“We bet against, no offence, Jazz,” Sideswipe gave him a lopsided grin. “But Prowl is a tough nut to crack. You’re good but I don’t think even Primus is that good.”

Jazz pulled a face and looked at Mirage. “What about you, you got my back?”

“You know any other time, I would but this time, I think you have your work cut out for you and I know you, you get bored if you don’t get what you want,” Mirage smiled sweetly. “Besides I’m trying to save my credits, I’m against.”

Huffing, Jazz folded his arms and smirked at them. “Some friends,” he goaded lightly. “You’ll all be eating your words, just you wait and see.”

****

  
The party had been expected at some point following the battle. Blaster had waited for all the injured mechs to be released from the medbay before throwing it so everyone could attend. Optimus had even persuaded Prowl to attend in attempt to drag the mech away from his desk. Everyone had turned out and the party had a buoyant atmosphere.

Jazz swirled his cube as he watched Optimus, Ratchet and Prowl talking. Sideswipe hadn’t been exaggerating, Prowl was a tough mech to read and even tougher to get close to. A vague plan had formulated in his processor. It had counted on Optimus managing to get Prowl out of his office. Jazz had subtly dropped enough hints at their leader suggesting that the Praxian was overworked and uncharacteristically irritable, to force Optimus’ hand.

Jazz smiled to himself as Ratchet shared a joke and Optimus laughed. He watched Prowl’s doorwings rise up and quiver slightly as the subtlest of smiles graced his lips. His plan was simple, be as charming as possible with plenty of high grade in his systems. Now Prowl was not a mech to get over charged, especially not at a party. Jazz could only recall one time that the SIC had actually gotten a little carried away, a long time ago. It was around the time Prowl had accepted his promotion. Prowl rarely lost control, even then. No, Jazz’s plan was to get himself to a comfortably overcharged state, where he still had full control of his faculties and then throw himself at the Praxian.

It would go down one of two ways. Prowl would feel pity but also responsible for him and so would take it upon himself to make sure Jazz was looked after and got back to his quarters without hassle. Jazz was pretty confident he could be charming enough to tempt even the stoic Prowl. Or Prowl would think him ridiculous and outright reject him. Jazz didn’t like that option but knowing Prowl like he did, he wasn’t too concerned. For all of his stand offish exterior, Jazz had worked with the mech long enough to know that Prowl cared with his spark and naturally took care of others without being prompted as a matter of course. Jazz was relying solely on Prowl’s chivalrous nature for his plan to work.

Downing his cube, Jazz got to his feet and poured out two. Sauntering over to the small group of mechs, he gave Ratchet a friendly nod and smiled at Optimus. “Hey mechs, how’s the party?”

Optimus’ optics brightened and he returned the smile. “A much needed relaxation I think, for everyone,” he glanced at Prowl with a knowing look.

Jazz chuckled as Prowl raised an optic ridge at his leader. “You can say that again. Let’s hope the ‘cons can leave well enough alone for a while.”

“They better fraggin’ do because if I have to lecture another mech on the merits of keeping up with their maintenance and not running themselves into the ground in an attempt to prevent the inevitable, I will be reformatting mechs into human toasters,” Ratchet groused, clapping Prowl’s shoulder good-naturedly.

Sipping at his almost empty cube demurely, Prowl regarded Ratchet coolly. “I’m sure those mechs are completely aware, Ratchet and choose to simply ignore and subsequently avoid your wrath.”

“You’re a glitch.”

“You have mentioned this,” Prowl replied dryly. “But as you have yet to act out your threats, I maintain a sixty percent chance that these threats will never come to fruition.”

“Prowl remember that I know where you recharge, when you actually fraggin’ recharge,” Ratchet countered with an evil grin. “You sure you want to rely on your stats so heavily?”

“Careful, Prowl,” Optimus warned with a chuckle. “You could push him over the edge and I’d much rather not have a sociopathic medic on the loose.”

“As you wish,” Prowl smirked.

“Before this gets ugly,” Jazz grinned. “Mind if I steal Prowl away for a while?”

Ratchet had opened his mouth to retort, only to stop at Jazz’s interruption, his optics narrowed at him suspiciously and he glanced at Optimus who nodded. “We’ll talk later about the finer points of toaster accessorising, Prowl.”

“I look forward to it,” Prowl replied absently, his attention now on Jazz at the unexpected request.

Prowl regarded Jazz in mild confusion as the mech curled a hand about his arm and led him away. “Is there something you needed to talk to me about, Jazz?” he asked, gently extricating himself as Jazz found an empty booth and slid in, holding out a cube to Prowl.

“Maybe,” he threw the black and white a wide smile.

“Well?”

“Well, nothing. Sit your aft down,” Jazz laughed, continuing to offer the cube, which Prowl finally accepted.

Prowl frowned a little and slid into the opposite seat. “What is this about, Jazz?”

“For starters? How about explaining to me what all that slag was you said to me back in tactical and then why you’ve been avoiding me for the last few days, hm?”

Prowl’s optics brightened and he ducked his helm, absently swirling his cube. “I was honestly busy, I didn’t intend to avoid you.”

“Like slag you didn’t, Prowl,” Jazz smirked. “Now come on, out with it, we’ve been working together for eons and you have never snapped like that at me before.”

Frown deepening, Prowl took a sip, more to stall than for an actual need for high grade. “I have been somewhat stressed with events lately. The Decepticons are attacking more frequently, impacting our reserves, especially in medical and it feels like at times, nobody else cares or notices. The last thing I needed to know was that you had enjoyed yet another distraction, while I was trying to figure out ways to keep more of us alive, preferably uninjured.”

Jazz watched Prowl’s doorwings droop slightly as he did a good impression of Bluestreak. “I never thought my actions were a problem.”

“They’re not,” Prowl looked up, insistent. “It just compounded all the frustration I had been feeling and I lashed out. It was improper and unprofessional. I apologise, Jazz, you were simply… at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You saying it would have been better if I’d’ve skipped out of the meeting entirely then?” Jazz asked playfully with a grin. His grin only widened when Prowl levelled a pointed look at him.

“I am not encouraging you, you’re bad enough as it is,” he retorted, his tone light.

Jazz laughed. “Fair, but you gotta admit, Prowl I am way more relaxed than you, maybe having a distraction isn’t so bad. You’d probably not be quite so stressed if you had a life out of tactical you know?” his tone was teasing but the sentiment and concern were genuine. After all he was one of the few mechs that actually considered Prowl a friend.

“Be that as it may,” Prowl replied with the faintest of smiles. “The work isn’t going away and somebot’s got to do it.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, mech,” Jazz answered with a faint frown. “I tell you what, how about tonight you just hang out with me here, blow off some steam, play one of those strategy games you like and have a little bit of high grade together and just forget about the war and the workload for a bit and next week I’ll make sure all my reports are done on time and I turn up to every meeting, hm?”

Prowl regarded Jazz with mildly suspicious optics before relenting. He had been tired and overworked and Jazz’s suggestion was quite appealing. Besides, not that he would ever admit it to anyone, he actually quite enjoyed Jazz’s company, as much as that confused him. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Was that a yes?”

“Every meeting?”

“Ninety nine percent of meetings,” Jazz amended with a grin.

“In that case you have a deal,” Prowl agreed with a smirk.

“Alright! Let’s get this party started!” Jazz beamed at Prowl while downing a mouthful of high grade, enjoying the burn of the stronger energon as it hit his tank. His plan was working beautifully.

****

The party went on until the early hours of the next morning. Jazz had had a great time. Prowl for all his stoicism was enjoyable to be around, even when he’d only had a little bit of high grade. It had turned out though, much to Jazz’s surprise, that the Praxian was no stranger to high grade and could handle the charge better than most. It had taken more than Jazz had been expecting to get to the point where Prowl was… suggestible.

Right now though he was definitely feeling the high grade. His frame was buzzing with overcharge and he couldn’t concentrate on the game he and Prowl were playing. Instead he kept getting distracted by the gentle movements of Prowl’s doorwings which grew more pronounced the more the mech relaxed. Every time he tried to reach out to touch them though, Prowl would bat his hand away. He’d tried several times - having forgotten he had already tried - that Prowl was more amused than irritated by it.

“You are overcharged, Jazz, you should go recharge,” Prowl stated with a soft smile as Jazz tried and failed to move one of his pieces on the game board.

“M’not… I’m good… I’m havin’ fun, dun wanna charge,” Jazz replied with a bright visor a lazy grin on his face. “Besides you’re here.”

Prowl chuckled. “I’m not sure why that bears any relevance.”

“‘Coz you’re not there when I ‘charge,” Jazz grinned. “Unless you’d like to be?” he added resting his helm on one hand, his other hand idly fingering his piece on the board. His visor was pinned on Prowl and half flashed with a cheeky, suggestive wink.

"Now I know you're overcharged," Prowl chuckled, once again batting Jazz's hand away from his doorwings. "Come on Let's get you back to your quarters," Prowl began tidying up the game.

Jazz snickered and grabbed a white hand, bringing it to his lips. "Only if I can persuade you to join me," he declared, kissing the back of Prowl's hand seductively.

Staring at Jazz with bright optics, Prowl didn't say anything for a few kliks. Quick frags weren't his thing but this was Jazz and even though Jazz had a reputation Prowl knew that he was still picky with who he took to his berth. He was honestly flattered and yet at the same time, suspicious and wary of the offer despite being extremely tempted. Contrary to popular opinion, Prowl was not a stranger to interfacing. It had admittedly been a regrettably long time due to current circumstances but that did not mean he was closed to opportunity. Prowl's main concern was that he was not a casual mech by nature, at least not to the degree Jazz was. Since leaving Cybertron he had only shared a berth with one other mech and that had simply been a continuation of a long standing arrangement and a way of coping with their predicament. That had only been one mech however, who was a close trusted friend. Prowl considered Jazz a friend but neither a close nor completely trusted one.

"What do you say, Prowler?" Jazz purred. "Fancy a fun night?"

"I say that you've clearly lost grasp on your faculties and we should get you back to the safety of your quarters before you attempt to seduce the remaining members of the crew that haven't yet succumbed to your charms," Prowl replied finally following Jazz's prompting.

Even knowing Prowl was teasing Jazz heard the mild dig and pouted at Prowl as they stood. "You wound me, mech."

"Hardly, I think," Prowl chuckled allowing Jazz to keep hold of his hand as he stood, in an attempt to steady himself.

Grinning at Prowl, Jazz leaned closer, his free hand tracing lazy circles over his chest plating. "You do think I'm charming though huh?"

"I did not say that."

"You just said; those that haven't succumbed to my charms."

"Observing the weakness of others and being aware that you charm them is not the same as finding you charming myself," Prowl smirked. "Besides I have not succumbed have I?"

"Not yet," Jazz pointed out, letting Prowl guide him out of the rec room.

"Presumptuous," Prowl countered.

"No denial though," Jazz laughed. "I think the mech doth protest too much," he sing songed.

From the other side of the rec room four pairs of optics watched the pair of Black and Whites leaving, with disbelief. 


	5. Deceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz digs himself a hole.

Prowl carefully guided and steered an overcharged Jazz back to his room as best he could, given his own more than slightly overcharged state. He certainly wasn't as bad as Jazz but it did present an issue with direction when having to multitask between getting to the room and fend off a handsy Jazz. Prowl honestly (secretly) wouldn't have minded so much if Jazz hadn't been overcharged. Taking advantage definitely wasn't his style. If Jazz had been sober, Prowl knew he likely would have succumbed to his aforementioned charms sooner rather than later. Though Jazz didn't need to know that. After all he did find Jazz attractive, he just couldn't reconcile with being another notch on Jazz's berth, being another meaningless distraction. "Have you quite finished?" He mildly chided with a faint smirk as he intercepted a reaching hand before it touched his doorwing.

"Not even a little bit," Jazz grinned. "Looks like you're not either."

Pulling a face in confusion, Prowl opened his mouth to protest only to stop himself when he realised they were outside his quarters, not Jazz's.

"Got something planning in that clever processor of yours hm?" Jazz nudged him playfully. "Gotta invite me in for that."

He'd been so distracted, Prowl hadn't noticed. "My tactical Centre must have considered it prudent to keep an optic on you given your state," he stated, well aware that it sounded ridiculous.

Jazz snorted a laugh and headed for the door unsteadily. "Yeah...Keep a close optic on me no doubt," he teased. He tapped the lock and smiled sweetly at Prowl. "So gonna let me in or do I have to let myself in?"

Prowl didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused by the fact that Jazz very likely had the skills to get into anywhere he wanted. It certainly wasn’t a security measure that Red Alert would have approved of. “It appears I don’t have much choice,” he replied demurely, putting in his code.

Jazz simply smiled brightly at him. “Not from where I’m standing,” he declared, slipping inside Prowl’s room as soon as the doors opened. “Wow, Prowler, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Prowl asked in honest confusion.

“These are some nice digs you got here,” Jazz grinned and turned to face Prowl, clearing the distance between them to press flush to the other black and white’s frame. “Should have gotten an invite sooner,” he added playfully, his fingers lightly trailing over Prowl’s bumper.

“I hardly think you could have found the time, what with all your distractions,” Prowl smirked, his tone teasing as he lifted Jazz’s hand from his plating and stepped around the mech.

Jazz laughed and his gaze followed Prowl predatorily. “Still playing hard to get, Prowler?”

Pointing a finger at Jazz as he gathered a blanket, Prowl shook his helm. “You are overcharged.”

Watching as Prowl set up the ample sized sofa for him as a makeshift berth, Jazz sidled up behind the mech and wrapped his arms about his waist. He pressed close, resting his helm on Prowl’s shoulder. “Not so overcharged that you should worry about taking advantage,” he purred softly into Prowl’s audio. He felt Prowl stiffen as his fingers splayed over his midriff. Jazz could tell Prowl was tempted by the shimmer in his field as it brushed against his own. He pushed back with his desire and rolled his hips a little, grinding ever so slightly against Prowl’s aft.

“Jazz…” Prowl started, his voice a low murmur as his helm bowed. He stilled one of Jazz’s wandering hands with his own and simply held it against his body. Oh Primus did he want this! “I--”

“--Should not think about it too much? Should let go and indulge once in awhile? Should enjoy the moment?” Jazz finished for him, his fingers unconsciously curling into Prowl’s warm plating.

“Jazz…” Prowl repeated, desperately trying to fight the temptation to give in to Jazz’s suggestions.

“Prowl. I’m offering. You’ve known me a long time,” Jazz stated, nuzzling Prowl’s neck as he did so. “You know I don’t offer to just anyone, no matter what my rep is.”

“I know…” Prowl whispered.

“Then what is it?” Jazz asked as Prowl turned in his arms to face him.

“I want…” he frowned and looked down at the floor. “I don’t need someone to warm my berth or to loosen me up, despite what my reputation is, yet…”

“Yet?”

Prowl pinned Jazz with an earnest gaze. “I have wanted… this with you, for longer than I care to admit and I find myself at odds with wanting you in my berth yet not wanting to be just another…”

“Conquest?” Jazz asked, canting his helm.

Prowl deflated, his doorwings drooping slightly. “Yes. I may not be as charming or even as likeable as you, Jazz but I do still have my pride and I will not be used for your distraction.”

Jazz smiled and reached up to cup Prowl’s face. “You think that’s what this is?” At Prowl’s ensuing silence, Jazz continued. “Mech, I’ve always respected you. I honestly would have approached you sooner had I known you were interested. I’m a picky mech and I like to stick with what and who I know and trust. Does that help?” Jazz genuinely meant every word. Right at this moment.

“Somewhat,” Prowl smiled sheepishly. “Though you are still quite overcharged.”

Jazz chuckled and pressed flush to Prowl, bringing their lips within touching distance. “And yet, here I am making perfect, sexy sense, in full control of my faculties and I’m still throwing myself at you,” he smirked and traced the rim of a headlight with his fingertip, eliciting a soft gasp from Prowl. “What more could I do to prove to you of my lucidity?” he asked sweetly.

“Say the words,” Prowl whispered. “Tell me you want this, tell me you’re sure…”

“Prowl,” Jazz cupped Prowl’s face once more and ran his thumb over Prowl’s mouth. “I very much would like to take you to your berth and ‘face you until tomorrow,” he smiled and leaned closer, pausing only for a klik before brushing his lips against Prowl’s, catching the gentle mewl that escaped the mech’s parted lips. “I am one hundred percent sure of my desire in this moment,” he purred against Prowl’s lip components. “How’s that?”

Prowl shivered subtly and wrapped his arms about Jazz, tugging him flush to his frame firmly, his optics darker as they gazed at Jazz intently. “That’ll do,” he replied huskily, before crushing their mouths together into a heated, passionate kiss. Much to Jazz’s pleasant surprise.

Deepening the kiss, Prowl took advantage of Jazz’s surprise by dipping his glossa into his mouth, slowly exploring and swallowing the mewl of pleasure that escaped the other mech. His hands wandered intently over his frame, seeking out the most sensitive spots, the seams that made Jazz squirm and moan for him. It was a sound he had longed to hear in his audio.

Jazz returned the passion in kind, his clever hands immediately gravitating towards Prowl’s doorwings, caressing and massaging them, causing them to move and twitch constantly, eliciting low groans of pleasure from the Praxian. Their passion only escalated from that moment and Jazz found himself suddenly pinned against a wall with Prowl pressed up against him, grinding slightly as he broke their kiss and dipped his helm to mouth and suckle at his throat. “Frag,” he managed to gasp, a shudder rippling through him. Prowl was far more passionate and seemingly experienced than Jazz had given him credit for and right now all he cared about was the pleasure Prowl was bestowing upon him. He wrapped his arms and legs about the mech when he felt himself being lifted and carried into the adjacent room. His entire frame tingled with anticipation as he was carefully lowered onto the soft padding of a berth.

Prowl peered up at Jazz as he kissed his way down his frame and he smirked when Jazz’s visor pinned him with an eager, lustfilled gaze. He mouthed teasingly over Jazz’s now hot panel and relished the low moans of enjoyment that spilled from Jazz’s mouth as his hips rose up to meet his lips.

Jazz barely felt his panel retract, so caught up in the pleasure of the moment. When Prowl’s glossa dipped into his valve, followed by a thumb, all he could do was moan out his pleasure. He hadn’t let any mech touch his valve in a long time, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Prowl might want to use his spike. Now thanks to his overcharge and intense desire for the mech, Jazz didn’t want him to stop. He wanted it, badly, wanted to feel Prowl inside him. He couldn’t even explain the need, all he knew was that he yearned for it and Primus the mech was good with his glossa. “Frag me!” he gasped, clutching at the berth padding.

Prowl’s face appeared before him and smiled down on him before kissing him deeply, letting Jazz taste himself. “I intend to,” Prowl murmured wantonly, his hand gently pushing Jazz’s legs apart as he guided his own spike to the slick valve. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into Jazz’s audio as he rolled his hips forward, his spike slipping just inside his valve entrance.

Jazz's spark pulsed harder in his chest at Prowl's compliment but when he felt the mech's hard spike pushing inside of him, he stiffened and keened, hands grabbing at Prowl, holding onto him tightly, causing the mech to stop and frown at him with concern.

“Jazz? Did I hurt you?”

“No… no please… don’t stop,” Jazz panted, meeting Prowl’s bright optics. “It’s just been a long time since I was um… you know…?”

“Spiked?”

Jazz nodded, feeling mildly ridiculous to admit that out loud. He half expected Prowl to stop, now that he’d ruined the moment, so when Prowl kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered that he understood into his audio, Jazz was at a loss for words. Which was good because when Prowl started to gently rock his hips, slowly pushing himself deeper into Jazz’s valve, all Jazz could do was groan with growing pleasure.

The rest of the night was an overcharged blur for Jazz. Prowl felt amazing between his legs and frag did he know how to pleasure a mech. Jazz had discovered that Prowl approached interfacing like he did everything else. With the highest attention to detail, utter steadfast determination to succeed and with a passion that burned brightly beneath the surface. Jazz wasn't a mech to just lie down and take pleasure however, he enjoyed taking an active part in the berth. When he was recovered enough from his first processor spinning overload, he set about pleasuring Prowl thoroughly. Watching the mech unravel beneath him while he spiked him hard, was a sight to behold and Jazz found himself enraptured with the mech. Prowl's whimpers and moans of ecstasy were music to his audio and Jazz knew at that moment, he definitely wanted to hear more of it.

Prowl clung to Jazz tightly as warm pleasure bloomed out from his array. He arched off the berth with a sharp cry of release, his second overload of that evening, and shuddered with a gasp as he felt Jazz stiffen and fluid heat fill his valve. It felt amazing and surreal that this was actually happening and he didn't want it to end.

Jazz sagged, sated, over Prowl and grinned at the mech as he made himself comfortable, half draped over Prowl. They traded soft lazy kisses as their frames expelled heat and their pleasure faded to a warm contentment. Still slightly overcharged, Jazz drifted off snuggled in Prowl's arms, vaguely aware of feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time as idle fingers gently, soothingly caressed an audio horn.

****

Waking the next morning, Jazz stirred groggily, blissful in his ignorance before his processor rebooted. His helm ached and his valve ached, his optics brightened at that as the night all came rushing back to him. He felt a warm frame snuggle against his back and an arm draped over him, tucking him closer. Usually after a good ‘face, Jazz was up and out the door before anything got awkward or uncomfortable and almost always before the other mech woke up. It was just easier that way. This time, he’d enjoyed himself so much, he’d slept in and now was in the predicament of not being able to make a quick, clean get away. As he lay there contemplating his situation before Prowl onlined and what in the world he was going to say to the mech, he remembered how good it had felt. He really had enjoyed himself. Would it hurt to frag Prowl on a more regular basis? Especially seeing as Mirage appeared to be moving on with his life.

“Mmhh… morning,” Prowl murmured sleepily, squeezing Jazz a little as he onlined, pressing a light kiss to the back of his helm.

“Hey, recharge well?” Jazz asked, turning a little to look Prowl in the optics. The mech looked remarkably different when he was relaxed and Jazz found the look on him quite fetching. “We may have got carried away last night,” he grinned at the Praxian.

Prowl raised an optic ridge and let out a low chuckle. “You may have, I ended up exactly where I intended.”

“In your berth, with me?” Jazz prodded playfully. He paused when Prowl didn’t answer immediately. “Wait… you wanted this to happen?”

Prowl shifted and propped his helm up with his hand, optics flickering slightly. “I cannot deny my attraction to you, Jazz but I am also well aware that complicating your distractions with feelings is very likely not a situation you want to get yourself into.”

“What are you saying?” Jazz frowned up at Prowl. “You wanted me in your berth because you have feelings for me but you’re willing to let me walk away?”

“I will not make things difficult for you, it can be… as though it never happened… if you wish…” Prowl replied quietly.

Jazz could tell merely by the tone of Prowl’s voice and the way he avoided optic contact that he was hoping for a different outcome. The mech was literally offering him a way out, an option to prevent his simple life from becoming messy and burdened with… feelings. He almost grabbed the opportunity and ran but something stopped him from moving. “What if I said I want to acknowledge it happened and very much want to do it again. Repeatedly?”

Prowl stared at him with no small amount of surprise. “I would suggest that you’re an imposter and call security,” he declared dryly.

Jazz snickered and turned on his side so he could better face Prowl. “Hear me out. You had fun, I had a really good time and I trust you, I think you trust me which means something, so I’m willing to give this not running out the door immediately thing, a shot if you are?” Jazz could practically hear his own processor screaming at him in disbelief. He had had a get out of jail free card handed to him by the very mech he’d pretty much tricked into seduction and was currently involved in a betting pool with Smokescreen on not being able to do so.

Every part of him knew as he said the words that it wasn’t going to end well. Prowl had basically admitted to having feelings but had been willing to forget about the whole night, for Jazz! Yet here Jazz was talking him into letting it continue. Prowl’s feelings would inevitably deepen, things would likely become more serious and if he found out about the challenge and the bet, Prowl’s feelings would be undoubtedly hurt and Jazz would likely lose him as both an excellent lover and as one of his closest friends. He could just get up and walk away. Right now. ‘Get out of this berth and walk away. You don’t want to even risk commitment. Prowl is a mech that only knows how to commit! You are going to hurt him. Leave now!’ he repeated to himself with growing dismay. It was too late to run though and Jazz had known it the klik the words had left his mouth.

“I… would like that,” Prowl replied, a small smile brightening up his face.

Jazz returned the smile while inwardly grimacing and cursing himself to the pits. ‘I am a complete glitch.’ This was definitely the stupidest decision he had ever made but as Prowl leaned closer and captured his lips with a tender, array tingling kiss, Jazz knew he was done for. He had an admittedly, addictive personality and Prowl had just inadvertently become Jazz’s long term fix. Jazz’s last coherent thought, as Prowl deepened the kiss and before his processor gave up rational thinking for his growing desire, was that; this was definitely not going to end well. For anybody.


	6. Web of Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz realises something terrifying about himself and guilt threatens to crush him.

“Three words gentlemechs,” Jazz stated as he slid into the booth besides Smokescreen, his gaze lingering on first him and then each of the twins. “Hand it over,” he grinned devilishly at them. 

“You didn’t…” Sunstreaker declared in disbelief.

“I most certainly did,” Jazz replied, sitting back in his seat, glancing around the rec room to make sure they weren’t being listened to. 

“The party right, when you left with him?” Smokescreen asked curiously. “You were pretty overcharged though, I didn’t think Prowl was the type to take advantage of a mech in that state.”

“He’s not and he refused to, until I assured him that I was fully aware of what I was doing and what I wanted.”

Sideswipe leaned closer, his optics pinned on Jazz. “You really fragged him, you need to provide proof.” 

Jazz’s visor flashed as he returned the red mech’s hard stare. “You what now?” 

Smokescreen shrugged. “He’s got a point, Jazz. The pot is a big one this time around, we can’t just take you at your word.”

"You're all a bunch of credit grabbing fraggers."

"Oh please like you wouldn't be just as ruthless," Sunstreaker countered with a huff. 

Jazz merely pulled a face and pulled out a datachip, "For Smokes' optics only," he declared. 

"Me?"

"Yeah mech, this is your operation and the only one I trust not to copy this and distribute. It will self corrupt in two hours," Jazz explained. "Besides you're Prowl's cousin so I have hope that you have more invested interest in not having the mech hate you if slag gets out."

"It would give us the upper hand against the copper for once," Sideswipe pointed out hopefully. 

"And that is precisely why I'm not letting you see this. I have to work with the mech directly, you don't, and he doesn't deserve to be embarrassed," Jazz pointed a warning finger at Sideswipe. "And if this gets spread around base," he pinned each mech with a dark glare, "I have the know how to make your lives incredibly miserable and the moralistic centre to allow me to do it."

"Alright there's no need for threats," Smokescreen placated with a frown. "I'll watch this now and if Jazz is telling the truth I'll collect the credits."

"Excellent, deliver them to my quarters after shift," Jazz was all smiles once more. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Sunstreaker scowled as the black and white left. "Yeah bet it fragging was," he replied grumpily. "I guarantee this is going to come back and bite him in the aft."

"Yeah," Sideswipe agreed with a matching scowl, "Prowl doesn't ever not take things seriously."

Smokescreen almost wished that Jazz hadn't succeeded. Jazz's comment about Prowl not deserving embarrassment had hit home and he was now filled with guilt for having ever challenged Jazz and placing the bet in the first place. He had a bad feeling about all of it but what was done was done. 

****

Smokescreen pinged the door and waited. He’d collected all the credits from the relevant mechs once he’d viewed Jazz’s copied data chip. There was an image he wasn’t getting rid of anytime soon. He pinged the door again, getting impatient, he was still irritated that Jazz had been able to seduce Prowl so easily. He had thought it a sure win for him and the others and a way for Jazz to see that berth hopping his way around base didn’t get him everything he wanted. Apparently he had been wrong. He was just about to ping the door again when it opened and he was met with none other than Prowl. He froze, his hand held in mid air, optics bright, doorwings twitching. 

“Smokescreen,” Prowl greeted cordially. “I hope you’re having a good cycle,” he stated, stepping past his fellow Praxian. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a sparkeater,” Prowl commented when Smokescreen didn’t move and just stared at him blankly. 

Catching Jazz’s steady gaze from behind Prowl, Smokescreen pulled himself together. “I ah, I’m fine, was just startled that’s all, didn’t expect to see you, Sir,” he replied, keeping it polite and to the point. 

“Fair enough,” Prowl replied. “I shall see you later?” he directed the question at Jazz as he stepped out of the mech’s quarters. 

“Count on it,” Jazz grinned widely. 

Prowl returned the smile, albeit with a subtle one but still it made Smokescreen stare in disbelief at Jazz as realisation dawned on him. 

“Would you like to come in Smokes’ so we can discuss that supply issue you raised earlier?” Jazz offered, his smile fixed on his face. 

“Might have known you work from your quarters,” Prowl commented drily.

“I like to be comfortable,” Jazz replied with an amused smirk. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Prowl’s lips. “Go on get to work, I’ll see you at yours, don’t keep me waiting.”

“As if I could,” Prowl murmured, mildly flustered at the kiss. He composed himself quickly and gave Smokescreen a passing glance before turning and sweeping away down the corridor. 

When the door closed, Smokescreen, now over his initial shock, turned to Jazz. “Are you out of your twisted processor?!” 

“You’re asking me that now?” Jazz chuckled, strolling past the disgruntled mech to pour himself some high grade. “I figured everyone already knew I was crazy.”

Smokescreen glared at him. “This is not a joke, Jazz. Not everything is you realise?”

“What are you getting at, Smokes’?” 

He pointed at the door in ire. “You didn’t just frag him, you’re actually… seeing him, fragging him, on a regular basis! Did any part of you stop to think of the mess you’re going to cause?”

“I don’t think I like your tone, mech.”

“You’re using him.”

“Everyone uses everyone else, it’s just life,” Jazz countered, sipping at his cube nonchalantly. “Besides Prowl is a big mech who can take care of himself, he wanted this, he consented to this and he knows me better than most.”

Smokescreen groaned and shook his helm with exasperation. “Prowl doesn’t take things lightly and he certainly doesn’t frag around just for fun,” he stepped closer to Jazz with a frown. “He also isn’t the emotionless hardaft that everyone thinks he is.”

“I know that.”

“So what in the name of Primus possessed you to start seeing him? Surely he knows what kind of mech you are and that you don’t do commitment?”

Taking a gulp of high grade, Jazz pulled a face and frowned. “Yeah, he does… the mech even offered me a way out,” he added quietly. 

Smokescreen stared open-mouthed at Jazz. “And you didn’t take it?!” 

“The words just came tumbling out, all I could think about was how good it was and how I actually trusted him,” he replied thoughtfully, remembering how Prowl had spiked him and had been the first mech he’d allowed near his valve in vorns. It hadn’t even been intentional, he’d merely lost control of the situation and then had been more than glad that he had. 

“Frag me!” Smokescreen uttered, flopping, deflated into a nearby chair. “You’re a glitch.”

Jazz simply nodded and hummed his agreement, taking another sip of high grade.   
“Good thing I brought you all these credits then. You’re going to need them when you become a hunted mech, because when Prowl finds out you basically conned him for credits, he’ll aim for your spark, you’ve never seen him mad, that mech is ruthless,” Smokescreen sighed, putting the credit chip on the table. 

“Let’s hope he doesn’t find out then,” Jazz answered curtly. 

Smokescreen let out an ungainly snort. “Please, this is Prowl we’re talking about. He always finds out.”

****

Jazz sat in the dark, staring at nothing. He knew the layout out of these quarters almost better than his own. He’d been in them enough over the last few weeks since that first overcharged evening, that it wasn’t surprising. Whenever anyone else saw these sparsely decorated quarters, they immediately assumed that it was because the mech had no interests, or personality, or life outside of keeping them alive. Jazz saw much more than that. 

He knew that there were exactly three holo images on the desk beside the monitor. One was of a young mech with his creators visiting the famous crystal gardens of Praxus, the second was of a confused looking mech, carefully holding a young Praxian mechlet on his knee, who was smiling broadly up at the elder and the third was of everyone. Everyone Jazz had known back on Cybertron, everyone on the Ark and those they’d left behind. The picture had been taken without anyone’s knowledge from the Ark’s command deck so almost everyone’s face had been visible, it was thoughtful, nostalgic and extremely poignant. 

On the book shelf above the desk were a meagre collection of human classics as well as a stack of datapads, containing all the literary works of Praxus and some of Iacon. In the berth room, there was a large berth that had more than the necessary amount of cushions and pillows and even had a human made blanket draped over the end, because the mech had a secret penchant for comfort and warmth. 

The room spoke volumes about the stoic mech who rarely showed his emotions, never lost his cool and always remained outwardly in control, even when he was crumbling on the inside. Jazz hadn’t seen those moments personally but he’d known they were there and having worked his way closer to the mech, he’d caught glimpses of his pain. Pain Jazz recognised all too well. Pain Jazz did not want to remember. 

Sat in the dark of the other mech’s quarters, the silence was heavy. The weight of Jazz’s guilty was heavier still, especially given that his spark felt quiet when he was in this room. One could say he felt at peace, accepted, trusted, desired. Visor dimming, Jazz let his helm loll back on the high back plush chair. He’d gone and dug himself in too deep far too fast and there was nothing that had convinced him to let go, to walk away. He simply didn’t want to. He wanted the dream of a normal life that came with these minimalistic quarters, he wanted the comfort he found in the other’s arms, he almost craved it when he was in these quarters, not that he would admit it out loud. Most of all he wanted those pale blue, icy optics to keep looking at him with the warmth and affection that would melt the coldest of sparks. 

Jazz had once thought himself dead inside. Alive only to do a bidding. To kill, to feel pain and give it. Now he knew that was wrong. He was very much alive and this time his pain was his own doing. This perfect haven he had carved for himself in his endless search for a distraction was built upon a lie, a lie that Jazz could feel himself drowning in. 

The room was suddenly bathed in light and Jazz met the quizzical pair of optics with a brilliant smile. “Hey there handsome, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“So it would seem,” came the dry reply. “Are you going to be making a habit of breaking in?”

Jazz laughed softly and pushed up from the chair, walking straight into the other mech’s arms. “Already have, mech,” he murmured softly, capturing the Praxian’s lips with his own. 

“Not complaining.”

Jazz smiled at the soft murmur and kissed the mech again, wrapping his arms about the mech’s neck and pressing close. In a lifetime of war, loss and pain, Jazz surmised that there were definitely worse ways to go. He just hoped that Prowl wouldn’t look at him with hate and disappointment in his optics when the waves of his lie threatened to pull him down too.


	7. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tower of lies comes crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for slow updates. Work two jobs and studying makes for a tired Wicked. Enjoy

Weeks then months passed and Jazz began to forget his bubble of lies. The more he saw Prowl, the deeper their casual relationship became. Prowl never said anything out loud but Jazz knew the mech was quite taken with him and had hinted at Jazz stopping at his quarters more. He had stated the use of the washrack and larger space for his games and music and souvenirs he’d collected from Earth but Jazz knew there was more to it than that, even if Prowl wouldn’t explicitly state it. He eventually became comfortable with his situation. Mirage had entered into a relationship with Hound which was now public knowledge and Jazz was genuinely happy for the mech. More so now that he had his own distraction.

When mechs had first found out about Jazz seeing Prowl, most had been shocked, many hadn’t believed it until they’d seen the two together with their own optics and even then, many weren’t convinced. Jazz had always insisted it was casual, he wasn’t a mech to be tied down. He had laughed it off, even in Prowl’s presence. Prowl knew that was the mech Jazz was and hadn’t said anything but that hadn’t stopped Jazz’s dismissal of their relationship as more than enjoyable company, hurting.

Only three mechs saw the slight down turn of Prowl’s doorwings whenever Jazz was blazé about their relationship, only three mechs frowned when they caught the subtle dimming of Prowl’s light blue optics. Only three mechs knew the lies that Jazz was covering up. Jazz had even started to see other mechs whenever Prowl was too busy or off base. That hadn’t surprised those three mechs when Jazz had told them, Jazz had simply stated that Prowl knew, that Prowl knew what he had been getting into and understood. Smokescreen had been the only one to warn Jazz, however, he had felt it his obligation to look out for the last family member he had left. Not to mention he still felt exceedingly guilty about having instigated the whole thing. The twins hadn’t bothered with warnings, Jazz never listened to warnings. They had a quiet - almost secret - respect for Prowl however and merely scowled at Jazz. They didn’t need to warn, they both knew what was going to happen. As with all lies, they would eventually become tangled into a confusing messy web and then Jazz’s bubble would burst.

Jazz was actually relieved when it finally happened.

****

“Jazz, are you free this evening?” Prowl asked quietly after they’d finished their tactical briefing.

Grinning as he stood, Jazz nodded. “For you always, what time?”

“After shift,” Prowl stated, as he headed from tactical.

“I will be there,” Jazz leant closer and nudged Prowl playfully, his voice lowered. “You want me to bring some of my special high grade?”

Prowl’s doorwings flicked just once and he unconsciously held his pile of datapads tighter. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Jazz’s visor flickered, ok that was odd. “Well, alright, I’ll just bring myself,” he declared cheerfully. “What more could you need?” he chuckled, leaning in to steal a kiss, only to have Prowl turn his helm slightly so Jazz’s mouth landed on his cheek. Jazz pretended not to notice and smiled warmly at Prowl, despite the worried pounding of his spark. “I’ll see you later, handsome.”

Prowl ducked his helm slightly, with a shy, thin smile, he watched Jazz leave for a klik before heading to his office. Upon his arrival, he dumped the stack of datapads on his desk and slumped into the nearest chair, making sure to lock his office door. Picking up a datapad he had confiscated from Smokescreen, Prowl vented a heavy sigh.

The datapad contained all of Smokescreen’s betting books. He mostly overlooked the other Praxian’s illegal ongoings out of a familial loyalty and the fact he knew mechs needed to blow off steam. As long as it didn’t hurt anyone. However, when he’d discovered some mechs didn’t have enough rations for their energon he had to investigate. Smokescreen had willingly turned over his books and had almost volunteered to walk himself to the brig. Prowl had been baffled. It had been like the mech wanted to get caught. That was when he’d read Smokescreen’s dealings. They were all of his bets dating back to when they’d first awoken on Earth, not surprising. Prowl had stopped reading when he found a file with his name on it. His finger had hovered over it for what seemed like an age before he’d finally opened it. What he found almost made him wish he hadn’t.

He and Jazz had been together for several months now, almost a year in human time and despite Jazz openly declaring he was not a mech to settle down, they had grown closer and Prowl even held a hope that some day, Jazz would find himself settled and not mind it so much. That hope had evaporated upon reading Smokescreen’s file. Now Prowl was not a naive mech and he had vaguely known about Jazz’s indulgences, even while he was seeing him. He knew Jazz ‘faced other mechs and hadn’t tried to make the mech change, had merely tried to be the more appealing, desirable option. It had hurt his pride, his integrity but he had realised too late that his feelings for Jazz had grown too strong and had found himself unable to let go of the mech when he first heard the rumours. This file, however, changed everything.

Jazz had never wanted to be with him. It had been a bet, a challenge, one Jazz had been unable to turn down and with his other ‘facing options dwindling, he’d stuck around Prowl, taking advantage of Prowl’s feelings for him. Anger bubbled up in Prowl’s spark and the datapad suddenly cracked in his grasp. He dropped it onto his desk with a clatter, he hadn’t realised he had been holding it too tightly. He was hurt, angry and felt incredibly gullible. He’d asked about the file with Smokescreen later on and had been dismayed to have his worst fears confirmed. Smokescreen for his part, could not apologise enough. Prowl felt utterly betrayed, humiliated. How many others knew? What a laughing stock he must be. Burying his face in his hands, he refused to cry, instead focusing on the anger he felt bubbling through his spark. It practically ached in his chest and Prowl could only surmise that this was what being spark broken must feel like. Did that mean he loved Jazz? The sad realisation crept over him, none of it would hurt this much if he didn’t. He had repeated the mistakes of his past, trusted too much and loved too easily. He was a fool. In the quiet of his office, the soft, grief-stricken whimper that escaped Prowl’s vocaliser, sounded deafening to his audios.

****

Jazz absently paced the command deck. He kept sitting down, standing up, fidgeting, humming, he couldn’t stop thinking about his earlier interaction with Prowl. The mech had acted odd. He felt a cold dread bleeding into his spark. Something was wrong, Jazz knew it, he just didn’t know what. Maybe it was all in his helm, Prowl had been a little stressed recently with all the Decepticon skirmishes. Yet despite that, Jazz still couldn’t shake the feeling that Prowl was angry at him. Had he found out about his continuing berthing habits? Jazz figured Prowl already knew about those and hadn’t minded since he hadn’t said anything. He remembered Smokescreen’s warning from a few months ago, had Prowl found out about the bet? There was no way unless someone had told him and Smokescreen wouldn’t do that....

Would he?

Jazz scowled, there was nothing for Smokescreen to gain by telling Prowl. If anything it would only hurt Prowl and Jazz knew Smokescreen wanted to avoid that. He huffed and stood once more, pacing the command deck with growing agitation. Jazz wanted to go see Prowl now, ask him what was wrong, demand to know why he was being strange. That thought made Jazz pause. He had no right to demand anything from Prowl. The mech had been more than tolerant of his behaviour though. Was it so bad, if Prowl was angry at him? Then maybe he could finally stop lying. It wasn’t like he was even capable of being the mech Prowl wanted anyway.

Despite his internal argument and relief at finally being free of his lies, Jazz also felt a sharp stab within his spark when he thought about not being with Prowl. Had he become so comfortable that he no longer wanted to be without the mech? No. It wasn’t possible. There had only ever been one mech for Jazz and that mech was dead. Had been dead for a long long time. Yet in spite of himself, the ache in his spark wouldn’t dissipate when he thought about not being close to Prowl, not greeting him after shift, not being able to kiss him, or be kissed by him, not being able to hold him….

Jazz sank down in the command seat slowly and stared blankly at the monitors in front of him. By Primus, what had he done?

****

Prowl felt his spark jump when his door pinged. It was only going to be Jazz. He frowned and composed himself. He didn’t want to do this and his spark ached at the thought but he wanted to be a laughing stock and taken for a gullible fool, less. He’d gathered the odd things that Jazz had left in his quarters and put them in a small crate, which was now sitting on his desk. He sighed and opened the door, finding that he couldn’t look Jazz in the optic as he entered.

“Hey, Prowler,” Jazz began cheerfully and waltzed inside. He stopped dead when he caught sight of his belongings in the crate and the smile vanished from his faceplates. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly, looking at Prowl.

Still frowning, Prowl inhaled slowly and picked up the datapad on his desk before holding it out to Jazz silently.

Spark spinning faster in his chest with apprehension, Jazz took it and the klik he opened it, he knew what had happened. “Smokescreen… fragger…”

“He is. But he is not to blame for this,” Prowl replied tersely.

“Prowl I can explain,” Jazz started, his mouth snapping shut when Prowl pinned him with an icy glare.

“There is nothing you can say that can explain how you used me for your own gain. A challenge, a bit of fun because you cannot accept the reality of your life,” Prowl tore his gaze away from Jazz and scowled down at his desk. “I was a Primus-damned fool to think I meant anything to you. This bet, just shows how little respect you have for well, anyone, but especially me,” he finished, doorwings dropping on his back.

“It wasn’t like that. I do respect you, it’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stop… why I didn’t leave when you gave me the chance,” the words came tumbling out from Jazz, he was desperate to try and salvage, whatever he could. Prowl was a steady presence in his life, had been for more vorns than Jazz cared to count. He wouldn’t let the mech go without a fight. That realisation surprised even him. “And the longer I stayed, the longer I wanted to stay, I wanted to be with you more.”

“So, that’s why you jumped in the next available berth whenever I was busy or unavailable?” Prowl asked simply, his bright optics boring into Jazz.

Jazz deflated, his visor dimming. “You knew about that? I sorta figured you did. I didn’t think you minded because you never asked me to stop.”

“You know I would never try to force you to change, that’s something you need to want on your own, it is obvious to me now that it wasn’t something you could ever do for me,” Prowl gave a defeated shrug, his doorwings flaring out. “Afterall, I was just a bet, a prize, another notch on your berth.”

“Prowl, please… I don’t want--”

“--You’ve had as much as you want for as long as you want,” Prowl bit out sharply. “No more. I will not be made into a joke for yours or anyone’s entertainment.”

“You’re not… I want this, us, please, Prowl, listen to me!” Jazz pleaded, only to tense when Prowl picked up the crate and marched towards him, thrusting it into his arms.

“I will not let you manipulate me and play with my feelings any longer. You can see yourself out,” he turned on his heel and walked into his berth room, calling back over his shoulder. “If you’re still here in five kliks, I will shoot you.”

Jazz’s visor was bright as he watched Prowl disappear into his berth room, slamming the door behind him. He had felt the anger and hurt in the other mech’s field. It was enough to stop him going after the Praxian. There was a high possibility that Prowl would make good on his threat. It wouldn’t do to try and talk to him while he was so angry anyway. “This isn’t over!” he called out defiantly, before heading out into the corridor. His spark ached in ways he’d forgotten it could. This was all his own doing he knew that, but he would make it right, he vowed silently. Or get shot trying.

****

Jazz felt all optics on him when he’d finally ventured into the rec room. He’d avoided going for as long as possible, knowing that the rumour mill would be in full swing. He hadn’t been wrong. Venting an irritated sigh, he walked over to grab a cube of energon with every intention of leaving. Word of what had happened had spread throughout the Ark like cosmic rust. The twins had known the truth and they hadn’t been discreet about whom they told. Smokescreen, to his credit, had kept quiet since being released from the cells. He was still riddled with his own guilt, Jazz certainly didn’t need to add to it. And in the days since he’d seen Prowl, Jazz had made himself scarce. Much to Optimus’ annoyance. He had managed to be conveniently busy for most meetings and those he had attended, he’d lingered at the back of the room, leaving as soon as it was appropriate, usually before.

Prowl had continued, business as usual. Jazz hadn’t really known what he’d expected but something, anything would have been better than a complete lack of acknowledgement. The mech didn’t even seemed fazed, tired or weary from the rumours. He’d been as stoic and cold as ever, but nothing out of the ordinary for Prowl. Jazz didn’t know whether to be annoyed or concerned. He hadn’t tried talking to the Praxian however, so he wasn’t sure how angry he was, if he even still was. Jazz knew he would have to talk to him eventually but for the time being, he was preoccupied with indecision. Did he want to chase Prowl? Or had he preferred his life before this whole mess? Jazz honestly couldn’t decide and he was stubbornly refusing to ask for advice. This was a mess of his doing. He had caused it so he would fix it, one way or another.

"You should join us."

Jazz looked over his shoulder at the quiet even tone and gazed steadily at the unreadable medic behind him. "Oh should I?"

"If you've got any sense of self preservation you will," Ratchet replied before heading back to his booth where Wheeljack and Red Alert were sat.

Jazz was a curious mech by nature and he cursed it. He was intrigued. What could they possibly want to say to him? They weren't mechs who normally sought him out so it had to be about Prowl. Resigned to getting an audio full, if the dark look on Ratchet's face was anything to go by, Jazz strolled over and stood at the edge of the table. "Well, your invitation was too tempting to pass up so I'm here."

"Sit down," Ratchet commanded quietly.

Meeting his hard stare, Jazz hesitated. "Tell me what you want, mechs, and I'll consider it."

"You sit your cocky aft down or so help me--"

"Ratchet," Wheeljack placed a hand on the medic's arm. "You promised."

Glowering at Jazz, Ratchet relented and sat back with a huff.

Fins flashing once, Wheeljack gestured to the seat beside Ratchet. "Please, Jazz, we just want to talk."

Warily throwing Ratchet a glance, Jazz acquiesced and slid into the booth. "I'm listening, so talk."

"I think you know what it's about," Red Alert started, glancing at the others.

"Why don't you enlighten me?" Jazz replied unhelpfully, with a humourless smirk.

"You're a fraggin' piece of work--"

"--Ratchet!"

"No, I'm not going to keep quiet and sugar coat things. You've had everything the way you wanted it since you joined this army, all because most mechs are afraid of what you'll do if they confront you," Ratchet pointed an angry finger at Jazz. "Well I'm not afraid of you, I pity you, you think because you've been through slag and lost someone, you can treat everyone like a commodity, a tool or a distraction, you think you have that right to walk around like your waste tank doesn't insult the olfactory senses. Always above the rules because the Jazz man gets the job done. I think you're a broken mess who just wants everyone to be as miserable as he is. I warned Prowl about this when he first started seeing you and that soft sparked glitched aft defended your sorry exhaust pipe only for you to prove me right."

"I don't know what it is you think you know but I can assure you, you know slag about me," Jazz answered evenly. Every single one of Ratchet's words had hit home however, not that Jazz was going to admit that. He was actually angry that he'd been deconstructed so well and by a mech he barely interacted with unless he had to. It was unsettling.

"Look we know that you only started seeing Prowl because of a bet," Wheeljack interjected before Ratchet could launch into a diatribe of expletives. “But somewhere along the line things got more serious, at least for Prowl if not for you,” he held up a hand as Jazz opened his mouth to interrupt. “Please, let me finish,” Wheeljack’s fins flashed brightly.

Jazz vented a sigh and folded his arms defensively. “Go on.”

“For whatever reasons, Prowl… well he cares about you and while I don’t know him as well as Ratchet or Optimus does, I do know that what has happened has… is affecting him.”

Jazz’s optics dimmed behind his visor and his spark twisted painfully in his chest. He never wanted to hurt Prowl. “Affecting him how?” he asked with quiet concern, glaring at Ratchet when the mech huffed his disapproval at the question.

“He is making mistakes,” Red Alert stated simply. “Not something that is cause for concern, if it were any other mech.”

“Prowl doesn’t make mistakes,” Jazz answered stiffly.

“Precisely the problem,” Red Alert replied softly. “His mistakes aren’t big; minor security check errors, some tactical miscalculations, distracted, mixing up rotas, but together they create quite a security issue, especially as he has refused to take time off duty.”

“I’m not entirely sure what you want me to do, mechs,” Jazz stated, avoiding optic contact. “Prowl is avoiding me, like he’s going out of his way to do so, even in meetings. He won’t meet me and I tried at first but concerning me, that mech is like a ghost.”

The three mechs all glanced at each other before Wheeljack and Red Alert both looked at Ratchet who shook his helm and deflated a little. “First things first. What do you want with Prowl?”

Visor flickering, Jazz stared defiantly at Ratchet, debating just walking away. The pang in his spark persuaded him otherwise. “I want to try…”

“Try what? This isn’t some kind of test or mission you realise.”

“If you’d just listen to me, mech,” Jazz’s voice lowered dangerously, his patience wearing thin. “Prowl has always meant a lot to me, he was, is a mech I consider a friend and since things became more….intimate, I have felt… more strongly for him. I care, I want to be near him and by Primus if this is my last chance at something good, I wanna try. I’m not saying I’m perfect or that I won’t make mistakes but I want the chance to try, if he’ll let me and it’s ultimately his decision as to whether or not I get that chance, not yours. I just want the opportunity to speak with him because right now he probably just thinks I’m happy with things as they are.”

“Can you blame him?” Ratchet responded acidly.

Jazz didn’t answer the obviously antagonistic question and simply leant on the table wearily. “Look I just want a few kliks to speak with him, if he can’t forgive me, then that’s what I’ll have to deal with but if there’s a chance… I want to try.”

Wheeljack nudged Ratchet and frowned at his friend. Ratchet let out a low grunt and sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Jazz. “We’ll help you but Prowl is my friend and so help me, if you hurt him after this, I’ll make sure you don’t darken any mech’s berth again.”

Jazz let out a short laugh. “You got to work on your scare tactics, medic.”

“I wasn’t always a medic, so you think on that for a while.”

Deciding not to push the mech, Jazz looked at the other two. “So how are you going to help me?”

****


	8. With a little help from...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle rudely interrupts Jazz's plans.

Wringing his hands, Jazz paced nervously in his quarters. Ratchet and Wheeljack were going to get Prowl out of his office somehow and somewhere private, while Red Alert was going to let him know when to set out and then they were going to give Jazz five guaranteed minutes to talk. This all had to be done carefully. The slightest hint of something not being right and Prowl would figure out their plan and bolt anyway. The fact that Prowl had been distracted, although it worried him, gave Jazz hope too. Maybe just maybe he didn’t entirely hate him. 

He practically jumped out of his plating when the Ark’s klaxon sounded. Staring at the door with a bright visor, Jazz gritted his denta when Prowl’s voice came over the ship’s comm. 

“All hands, reports to battle stations. I repeat report to battle stations. This is not a drill.”

“Frag me,” Jazz swore as he dashed out of the door. “Those glitched ‘cons have the worst slaggin’ timing,” he growled as he grabbed his weapon on the way to the command deck. He caught Wheeljack’s optics as he arrived and the engineer gave him an apologetic shrug.

Optimus was already in the centre beside Prowl who was delivering orders as the Autobots prepared to go to battle. Jazz knew what his role was. It was the same it always was in surprise attacks. Get behind the enemy and blow up everything he could touch. Angry that bad timing had likely ruined any chance he had of getting to speak with Prowl, Jazz didn’t wait for orders before heading out of the Ark. 

Prowl’s doorwings twitched with irritation when he saw Jazz leaving and he pressed his lips together into a thin line. Jazz on a good day was dangerous but an angry Jazz was reckless and potentially suicidal. Prowl couldn’t help but worry. 

Optimus gave the order to roll out and the Autobots sprinted out of the Ark, weapons at the ready. The Decepticons were practically at their front door and straight away they had to leap into the fray. Laser fire filled the air, mingled with the cries of warriors clashing in hand to hand combat. 

Prowl barked orders over the comm. Dashing across the battlefield to find a suitable spot with which to pick off incoming Decepticon forces, he noticed Jazz running between the legs of Devastator, leaping gracefully up the legs of the titan, planting his explosives before letting go, dropping to the ground and transforming, speeding out of the way as the gestalt split apart with a shower of metal and constructicons.   
Prowl picked off Decepticon fighters as Jazz raced back from the enemy. He noticed the twins performing their aerial battle manoeuvres and projected where the defeated seeker was going to plummet. As he silently predicted, Jazz’s escape route was cut off and the saboteur had to change direction sharply and transform to avoid the seeker. 

Cursing, Jazz pulled his weapon and ducked behind an outcropping of rocks firing on the approaching ‘cons that had seen his little stunt. He was cornered. 

Scanning the battle rapidly, Prowl saw a danger Jazz hadn’t realised. He couldn’t get a clear shot of the constructicon, approaching Jazz’s position from above. He tried to focus through the smoke and laser fire, to no avail. His battle computer calculated his chances faster than a supercomputer and without hesitation, Prowl leapt into action. He ducked, rolled, slid and dodged through the battle, raising his weapon to fire once he had the green mech in his sights, only to be slammed to the left, crashing to the ground, his weapon flying from his hands. He turned onto his back quickly and kicked Dead End solidly in the midriff as the mech advanced on him. He didn’t wait around to fight and sprinted towards Jazz, yelling out a warning. 

Hearing his name through the commotion, Jazz looked up and his visor flashed white as he came face to face with a grinning Mixmaster looming above him on a ledge of rock. The ‘con waved and was holding what looked like an explosive device in his hand which was instantly falling towards Jazz. 

“Frag me,” Jazz uttered softly. A solid force suddenly slammed into him, sending him flying backwards into the rocks as the chemical bomb hit the ground and exploded. Jazz’s audios screamed with noise and his visor whited out as rock cascaded around him. He caught a glimpse of white metal as another mech curled protectively around and over him, while it felt like half a mountain was collapsing over the top of them. He cried out as the rock slide thundered around them and his whole world went black.


	9. Spark to spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't the way Jazz wanted to apologise...

His audio had stopped ringing by the time he finally regained consciousness. Jazz had no idea how long he’d been out. Some of his internals were damaged and he had taken a blow to the helm, which had stopped his chronometer amongst other things. His visor was half broken and flickering annoyingly. It was dark and his optics failed to adjust for the lack of light, precisely why he had the visor in the first place. Virtually blind and physically pinned, Jazz fought off a wave of panic. 

“Are you injured?” 

Jazz’s optics brightened and he tried to look in the direction of the voice. A voice he was relieved to hear, although he wished the circumstances were better. “I don’t know… there’s some alerts but my helm was damaged.”   
“Give me a klik,” came the calm voice. 

Jazz felt the tingle of a medical scanner and shifted uncomfortably, causing more smaller rocks to ping against his frame as they fell. “You saved me.”

The other mech paused in his scan. “Any soldier would have done the same.”

“Any soldier didn’t, you did.”

“I wouldn’t see anything in this, Jazz,” Prowl finished his scan. “You have some internal hemorrhaging. You need a medic.”

Jazz huffed a humourless laugh. “Good to know,” he winced when Prowl began to patch some of his superficial injuries. “Looks like we’re trapped.”

“The rocks collapsed around us. We are somewhat protected by an outcrop of rock above us. I was fortunate that only my doorwings suffered but your legs are pinned by a rock I cannot move without risking the rest of them collapsing and crushing us.”

Jazz chuckled softly. “You know how to lighten the mood, Prowl.” He met the pale glow of the other mech’s optics before they turned away from him. “Hey, thanks,” he continued humbly. “For saving my life. I owe you.”

Prowl shifted, his own painful grimace hidden by the enveloping darkness and he gingerly sat himself beside Jazz’s helm, his one working headlight casting long shadows over the rocks that made up their temporary prison. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Hearing the dismissal in Prowl’s voice, Jazz sighed. “Was going to try talking to you today.” When Prowl didn’t respond, Jazz continued regardless. This may well be the last chance he was going to get. “Ratch’, ‘Jack and Red’ were helping me.” 

Prowl spared Jazz a subtle glance before averting his optics. “Were they?” 

Jazz half smiled. “See that got your attention. Yeah, they’re worried about you and regardless of Ratchet’s feelings towards me, which before you add, I know are perfectly justified, they figured us talking would help.”

“I don’t see how,” Prowl replied somewhat haughtily. 

Optics dimming, Jazz tried to move, only for Prowl’s hand to rest on his shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t move, it will exacerbate your injuries.”

“Right now, the only thing I’m exacerbating is this situation,” Jazz replied defiantly. “You’ve been avoiding me and right now this is the best opportunity I’ve had to talk to you so we’re going to fraggin’ talk even if it kills me.” 

Prowl met his optics and sighed softly. “I would much rather it didn’t,” he responded quietly. “Say what you must.”

Jazz reached over and touched Prowl’s hand only for the mech to pull it away. The simple motion, filled Jazz’s spark with sadness. “Look, I know I hurt you, I didn’t want that. I… I’m so sorry, Prowl.” 

Prowl nodded and stared at the wall opposite. “Apology accepted,” he answered blandly. 

“That’s not all. I wanted to explain---”

“--Explain more about how you used me for personal gain, for your reputation?” Prowl interrupted coldly. 

“I was a dumbaft.”

“I had a few more choice words to describe you, but I suppose that sums it up,” Prowl replied sardonically. 

“I didn’t expect to... “ Jazz hesitated. He could still feel the hurt and anger in Prowl’s field, despite the mech’s expert attempts to hide it. 

“To what, Jazz?”

“To feel… more… frag, Prowl, being with you that first night was really good and it just kept getting better. I… my spark… I haven’t developed feelings for anyone in a long time not until you…” 

“And what do you expect me to say to that?” Prowl responded curtly. “That I have feelings for you too, so all is forgiven?”

“No, I don’t know! I just wanted you to know that it meant something to me, that I didn’t want to let it go, that I wanted…”

“Wanted what?” Prowl snapped sharply. 

“You! Alright. For the first time since…” Jazz offlined his optics and quieted his voice. “Since I had everything, I wanted it with you.”

“So that was why you found other berths to occupy every chance you could, hm?” 

“Prowl I--”

“--No, Jazz. I tolerated it because I knew what I was getting myself into. I thought, foolishly, that perhaps I could change you,” Prowl frowned and shook his helm. “Or at least make it worthwhile to stay with me and me alone but I couldn’t. I wasn’t enough and I never will be.”

Jazz reached for Prowl, wincing when his internals protested painfully. He grabbed Prowl’s hand before the mech could pull it away. “That’s not true. I’m just the idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him before he fragged it up doing what he always does. Running away. I don’t want to run anymore. I don’t want to be scared to feel again… I want…”

Prowl gazed at him patiently while Jazz searched for the right words. 

“I want a chance. One more chance.”

“To what end?” Prowl whispered, not daring to hope. 

“I don’t know. Honestly. I don’t know what the end could be. We’re at war, everything’s way more messed up than it was when we were just civilians doing a job, but I want to try just being with you… just being us… together.”

Staring at the half flickering visor, Prowl frowned deeply and tore his gaze away. “Jazz, I don’t thi--”

“--Please, Prowl. I’m not perfect. I messed up, surely you’ve messed up sometime in your life?”

His frown turning into a scowl, Prowl pulled his hand free. “I haven’t used a mech and taken advantage of their feelings the way you did me, no.”

“I made a mistake, Prowl. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Jazz snapped impatiently.

“Until you mean it.”

“So I’m a liar now?” Jazz pulled a face and lay back down on the floor wearily. “Guess you haven’t ever done something so stupid because you were afraid then, huh? Silly me, forgot who I was talking to. Perfect, Prowl, never makes mistakes, never hurts any bots’ feelings. Must have been hard lowering your standards to let me in.”

“I am far from perfect,” Prowl responded tersely. “But I do have respect for those I am intimate with. Which is more than can be said for you.” 

“I suggest you don’t talk slag about what you clearly know nothing about,” Jazz growled out, glaring at Prowl. “I have always respected you. Things got too real and I realised too late, alright? I did stupid stuff and I yeah I took advantage of the fact that you tolerated it because it was easier than admitting you’d gotten under my plating and I liked it,” optics dimming, Jazz sighed and rubbed his faceplates with his hand. “I don’t want to fight… I just wanted a second chance to make it right. To treat you right. I know I don’t deserve it but I want it anyway. I’m sorry, so sorry for what I did, I can’t promise I won’t frag up again in some way but I will do my utmost to make sure you’re not hurt like that again… if you’ll have me…”

Silence fell heavily in their makeshift prison. Prowl opened his mouth to reply, only for another voice to cut through the darkness. 

“Jazz? Prowl? Are you in there? Can you hear me?” 

Turning carefully, Prowl knelt and felt the rocks above him. “Yes, Prime! We’re both here, Jazz is injured he needs a medic!”

“We’re going to take the rocks from the top, so they don’t collapse, Ratchet is here, he’ll enter first and we’ll get you both out. Hang tight,” Optimus’ booming voice filled the small space. 

Both mechs shielded their optics when a shaft of light pierced through the rocks. Two energon rations were thrown in. “Drink those, keep your energy levels up to keep your self repair working, are you injured, Prowl?” Ratchet’s face appeared at the small hole in the rocks. 

“Minor injuries, Jazz has internal bleeds and helm damage,” Prowl explained. 

“We’ll be as quick as we can, hang on.” 

Prowl nodded and sat back on his haunches as he passed one of the rations back to Jazz without looking at him. 

Jazz accepted it and stared at Prowl’s back in the dim light. One doorwing hung at an odd angle and both had large dents from when the rocks had collapsed around them. The glass was smashed and neither one was moving on the mech’s back. “Your doors… you’re hurt,” Jazz tentatively reached out, brushing his fingers along the bottom edge of the nearest one, lifting it ever so slightly, only for it to fall limply on Prowl’s back. 

“It’s not urgent,” Prowl uttered quietly. 

“Painful though,” Jazz pointed out. “You shielded us with your doorwings?” 

“It was the only way.” 

Jazz didn’t get a chance to respond when the shaft of light above them suddenly expanded. More bots’ faces filled the space and a harness was lowered to help lift Prowl out of the hole. Jazz watched as he was lifted out and didn’t miss the glance back at him before Prowl vanished into the daylight. Ratchet jumped down beside him carefully and started examining his frame. “Prowl’s doorwings are mangled, he’s not alright.”

“I know fraggin’ well he’s not alright. You’re both lucky to be alive,” the medic groused, frowning at the rock pile that was currently crushing Jazz’s lower legs. 

“Don’t feel lucky,” Jazz muttered glumly. 

“Now we’ll have none of that feeling sorry for ourselves lark. You’re going to get out of here and then you’re going to spend some quality time in medbay,” Ratchet replied shortly. “The good thing about being lucky is having the chance to do things better,” he added as he accessed a medical port on the side of Jazz’s helm. “You’re alive, that means you have a chance, don’t fraggin’ waste it.”

“Doc, we’ve really got to work on your bedside manner,” Jazz quipped lightly, knowing that there wasn’t much hope of him fixing things now. He had tried but Prowl’s lack of response pretty much told him everything he needed to know. Perhaps there was some sliver of hope that their friendship at the very least could still be salvaged. 

“Moving you is going to hurt so I’m going to sedate you,” Ratchet continued, ignoring his jibe. 

“Do what you have to,” Jazz replied, feeling a wave of relief as unconsciousness swept through him, silencing his troubled thoughts and dulling the ache in his spark.

Ratchet huffed as Jazz fell unconscious. “You’re both as bad as each other,” he muttered to the offline mech. “You don’t even know how lucky you are.”


	10. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reached the end of the road. Thank you for reading!

Waking up in the medbay, Jazz groaned. The medbay was dimly lit which meant it was late and he had no idea how long he’d been under. The pains had mostly gone though, replaced by stiffness. Turning his helm, he caught sight of Prowl lying on his own medical berth in the next suite, sans doorwings. His injuries had obviously been worse than he’d been letting on if Ratchet had removed them.

Despite being hooked up to machines, Jazz pushed himself up and slid himself off the berth gingerly. He needed to finish the conversation with Prowl before the opportunity slipped through his fingers. He knew there wouldn’t be another. Grabbing his energon drip and wheeling it with him, he exited his private suite and quietly made his way to Prowl’s, gently closing the door behind him. Making his way over to the berth, he stiffly sat down in the nearby chair to wait. Prowl was still offline but his vitals were all good, which meant he was just in normal recharge. Jazz would wait. He owed Prowl that much at least.

“You should not be up.”

Prowl’s quiet tenor startled Jazz and he stared at the black and white, who was gazing at him questioningly.

“Had to come speak to you.”

“Surely it could have waited until you were fully recovered.”

Jazz shook his helm. “Figured it was now or never,” he replied softly. “Want to finish our conversation.”

Prowl’s pale optics dimmed and he looked away. “There is nothing more to say.”

“I disagree,” Jazz countered, standing and moving closer to the berth. “I want to make it clear how much I care for you, how much I really want a chance to get it right with you and how sincere I am. I know I fragged up, I’m a smart mech, Prowl, I want to get it right. I can.”

“Jazz…”

“No, please, let me finish,” Jazz interrupted, taking hold of Prowl’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m willing to give up the chance of ever being with you….as long as I know that there’s a chance we can still save our friendship. I respect you, Prowl and more than that, I trust you, more than I do almost anyone else. I don’t, I don’t want to lose that, even if you don’t give me another chance to be more… I can accept it as long as you tell me you’re not going to keep avoiding me, that we’ll be friends again, like we used to be.”

“I am entitled to my anger, Jazz and my pain. What you did…”

“I know and you’re right and I’m an aft.”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t know what? Which part, the friends part or more or both, what, Prowl… talk to me, please?”

“I don’t--”

“--What the frag are you doing out of your berth?”

Jazz grimaced when Ratchet’s voice cut through the air. “Ratch’ please we’re just having a private chat.”

“I don’t care what you’re just, you’re on medical leave right now and in this medbay I outrank the both of you, so get your aft back in your berth before I put you there.”

Jazz looked imploringly at Prowl and held his hand tighter. “Prowl…?”

Meeting his gaze only for a moment, Prowl’s optics flickered uncertainly and dimmed before he averted his optics.

With a sinking spark, Jazz released Prowl’s hand and stepped back with a nod. “I understand… it’s what I deserve anyway… I’m sorry…” he uttered defeatedly, turning to face Ratchet’s ire. “Alright, doc I’m going, you’ll get no more trouble from me.”

“Right and I’m chartreuse,” Ratchet grumbled sardonically as he escorted Jazz back to his own berth. “And stay there,” the medic ordered, shutting the door behind him as he left Jazz alone in the dark with his dismay.

****

Once released from medbay, Jazz had been practically confined to quarters until his injuries fully healed. It was more the potential processor damage he may have suffered that would only come to light later, so he was under observation. There was only a few more days left before he had to report to Ratchet and be cleared for duty but Jazz was bored and frustrated.

Prowl had left the medbay before him. He hadn’t spoken to the mech since he’d asked for another chance. Jazz had given up any hope that their friendship could be salvaged and had spent the remainder of his recovery in his quarters, wallowing in his own misery. He had reminisced about his past, looking at old photo files. He didn’t know what to do. His spark felt heavy and constricted and his thoughts kept drifting to Prowl. He knew once he was back on duty he would return to his old berth hopping ways, just to dull the pain. Though knowing himself as he did, it would probably get worse. He silently hoped for an ops mission to take him away from the base for an extended period or one that put him out of his misery. One thing he had realised since losing Prowl, was that this was no way to live. It was all pretend, all a cover to hide the fact that he was just as lonely as everybody else. It didn’t make it any easier to accept.

He was pulled out of his increasingly darkening thoughts by the buzzer of his door. He wasn’t unused to visitors, a few had stopped by to keep him company, to wish him well. Despite his flagrant disregard for others’ feelings, he was surprised that so many mechs still liked him and wanted him to be alright. It made his processor hurt trying to understand it. His buzzer sounded again and Jazz growled. He didn’t want company right now. “Alright! I’m coming!” He frowned, heading to the door and palming the release. “Where’s the fraggin’ fire…” he started, looking up and freezing. “Prowl…?”

“I’m not disturbing you, I hope?”

“No, no please, come in.”

Prowl stepped inside his quarters and held himself stiffly, awkwardly as Jazz turned to face him. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” Jazz answered simply. “Got to admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Ducking his helm, Prowl flicked his repaired doorwings apologetically. “I’m sorry I left the medbay without saying anything, I… needed to think.”

“Could have just said so.”

“Yes. It was thoughtless of me, I apologise.”

Jazz shrugged and moved past Prowl, to grab himself some energon. “So not to be rude or anything but I’m not the best company right now.”

Prowl met his expectant gaze and faltered a little. “I came because I wanted to accept your proposal, if it is still viable.”

“Proposal?” Jazz canted his helm in confusion. “What?”

“You wanted another chance…” Prowl continued hesitantly, his optics dimming slightly. “If you have since rethought, then I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Jazz stared for a few kliks as Prowl made for the door. “No, wait, frag you’re skittish!” he laughed nervously. “Never expected this, to be honest, Prowl. I thought it was done when you didn’t answer.”

“I regret giving you that impression. I am not the best at expressing myself, especially when it concerns my feelings.”

“You and me both, mech,” Jazz chuckled sheepishly. “So… you’re serious, you want to try being… well us? Together?”

Prowl drew closer and reached out to brush his fingers against Jazz’s. “I cannot deny my feelings for you, to do so causes me undue distraction which I cannot tolerate. Especially after having learnt that you reciprocate those… feelings.”

“Yeah… they kinda caught me by surprise too,” Jazz smiled softly, turning to link their hands, pressing closer to Prowl. “I really do want that chance though.”

“It is yours,” Prowl answered softly.

They held each other’s optics for a while before, Jazz hesitantly closed the distance between them and brushed his lips over Prowl’s. He felt his spark surging in his chest when an arm curled about his waist and his mouth was captured by Prowl’s in a tender, needy kiss. It became rapidly more fervent and desperate as Jazz pressed flush to the other black and white, his hands slowly exploring Prowl’s frame.

The kiss broke with a gasp as Jazz rested his forehelm against Prowl’s. “I’ve missed this,” he breathed.

“As have I,” Prowl responded, stealing another kiss, deepening it with a soft wanton moan.

Jazz felt a warmth spreading through him as they swapped kisses, their passion and need for one another, increasing with each passing klik. Holding Prowl close, mouthing over his lip components, Jazz tugged the other mech towards his berth room. He paused and glanced at the berth before looking at Prowl, his intakes already hitched with his arousal. “Too soon?”

“Never,” Prowl whispered, pushing him gently back onto his berth, crawling over the top of him as Jazz scooted back to lie more comfortably on the large padded surface. “I want you, if you’ll have me, Jazz?”

Jazz grinned and traced the lower edge of Prowl’s chevron and moved over the curve of his cheek, running his thumb over the slightly parted lip components. “You’re all I want, mech.”

Prowl smiled softly and closed the distance between them, kissing Jazz passionately, his hands seeking out all the sweet sensitive spots that made Jazz writhe and moan for him.

It didn’t take both mechs long to get worked up to a frenzy. It was desperate and needy but full of passion and emotion. Jazz was swept up in the torrent, only able to call out Prowl’s name as the mech sank deeply into him over and over, claiming him. It was rougher and more fervent than Prowl usually was but Jazz didn’t mind. He could feel the need, want, mine rippling through Prowl’s field and after everything Jazz had put him through, he certainly was not going to deny him this. Jazz was surprised at just how much, he too needed this reconnection, the act of being physically claimed, while carnal, made him feel more wanted than he had in more vorns than he could count.

He cried out wantonly as Prowl thrust into him with abandon. He clung to the mech who had somehow gotten a hold of his spark, as though his life depended on it. Prowl’s name spilled from his vocaliser as overload exploded through him. It was so much more intense than it had ever been between them and Jazz knew, at that moment, as Prowl hollered out his own release, Jazz’s name on his lips, that this was everything he needed. Everything he wanted. Holding onto Prowl’s heated frame as the mech sagged tiredly over him, kissing him sweetly, Jazz felt a warmth spreading deep throughout his spark. He offlined his optics with a soft sated smile. The image of the past would never fade, nor would it be replaced, but it no longer filled him with the same pain. Finally both the living and those in the well could be at peace. ‘As long as I don’t frag it up.’ Jazz laughed to himself softly.

Prowl lifted his helm and stared quizzically at the chuckling mech in his arms. “What’s funny?” he asked with bemusement.

“Just thinking about how I might still frag this up,” he gazed at Prowl and his smile softened. “And how I don’t deserve you.”

Prowl smirked and kissed his nose. “You don’t, but then, nobody’s perfect,” he teased, holding Jazz tighter as the mech’s bright laugh warmed his spark.

****

 

 


End file.
